Chase MD
by airmac
Summary: Chase finds out, that House is alive.
1. Chapter 1

_My many thanks to Trinitas for editing this story and making it so much better!_

* * *

Foreman looked at his desk. It had been a busy day - had he forgotten something? He considered, glanced at the clock - eleven-thirty. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning. He looked up and saw a familiar figure in the doorway.

Foreman took a deep breath, resisting the urge to tell Chase to go to hell - or even better, to fire him! Chase's sheepish smile, offering another truce, did the trick. Foreman shook his head, accepting the apology.

"Let's go somewhere, you need to relax after a hard day," Chase said, and went out to the corridor.

"Not all of us can put our jobs on hold and sleep in until noon." Foreman began to boil again. He slammed the glass door of his office shut and took a deep breath, locking it.

"What's the use of being dean if you can't take a day off every now and then?"

"I wouldn't be dean if I subscribed to House's model of professional 'growth.' You may have lost your sense of responsibility, but _most_ of us here take patient safety seriously."

"I know you're mad at me," Chase said. "Keeping us all in line is your job. And my job is putting my patient ahead of the rules." Still maddeningly calm, he added, "Anyway, I got the diagnosis in time."

"And if you hadn't?" Foreman demanded, his voice rising.

They passed through the turnstiles, where for a second Foreman put on a mask of professional calm to say goodbye to the guard, who nodded respectfully in return. He'd worked here long enough that it wasn't the first time he'd seen Foreman and Chase argue.

"When your luck runs out and you kill a patient? Then what?" Foreman continued, when they were outside.

"It's not luck, Foreman," Chase replied, wrapping his coat tightly around himself. It was the middle of April, but the cold did not want to retreat.

"Of course not!" Foreman rolled his eyes. "I should've known you're incapable of screwing up."

"You know how diagnostics works. I don't need to explain it to you."

"Especially when it's not your ass on the line."

"It's my patient's. That comes first."

Silently they came to the bar. Foreman wondered how to get through to Chase. When they'd worked together, it'd been Foreman's job to discourage House's crazy behavior, and Chase's to go along with it. Now Chase was in charge of Diagnostics, and there was no way to rein him in. Threats to fire him would be useless - he'd just go off and surf, waiting for Foreman to call him back. Knowing that sooner or later, Foreman would _have_ to call him back.

They sat in a booth and ordered a beer.

"You're much worse than House. People hated him and were ready to sell him out any minute. But you - everyone loves you and covers up for you. You do whatever crazy procedure you want, and your girls keep their mouths shut. I don't know what you've done to them." Foreman complained.

Chase smiled, pleased.

"At least I have a chance as long as there are men on staff. Women are powerless against you." Grinning, Foreman took a sip from his glass.

"If you want to know what I'm doing, why not come and ask me?"

"Are you kidding? When was the last time you told me the truth?"

"I tell you exactly what you need to know as dean of the hospital."

"And as dean of the hospital, I need to know everything you do!"

"We treat patients, that's all."

"Don't give me that, Chase. You said yourself - I know how it works." Bureaucracy could get tiresome - as dean, there were days he missed diagnostics and the ability to ignore all red tape - but the rules existedfor a reason. Without them, there would be chaos, and people would die in the hands of doctors who did whatever they pleased.

"Cuddy loved House, so she took all his crap. I have no reason to take yours!" Foreman laughed, emptying his glass.

"Sure you do - the hospital's reputation. First you wanted to become a great doctor, and now you're a great dean. But you need me to diagnose patients you can't," Chase said without a hint of mockery.

Foreman gave him a cold stare. He had nothing to answer - it was true. It had taken him a long time to understand that he wasn't like House or Chase. He wasn't an arrogant, heartless bastard.

Still, Chase's barb had hit a soft spot, but Foreman wasn't one to give up so easily. He wanted to prove that he was better, cleverer, than the Australian. It was him House entrusted with his secret, not Chase, and the last couple of beers made him think that Chase should know it.

"He's alive," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Who's alive? The patient? I know."

"No. House is alive."

Chase stared, disbelieving. "Don't joke. We were at his funeral!"

"Wilson had only a couple of months, and House wanted to be with him. He had no choice but to fake his death."

Chase froze, beginning to scroll through all the recent events in his head, and smiled as the puzzle took shape. There'd been a body found after the explosion, burnt beyond recognition; House would've had no problem switching the dental records and going into hiding. The weight of grief lifted - he'd never received such good news. House was alive! Now he just had to find him.

It was just like House to leave him a puzzle to solve after his death. _Not real death,_ Chase corrected himself. It was a challenge, and Chase was ready to accept it. He'd worked with House nearly ten years. If that training was worth anything, if anyone could figure out where House had gone, he could.

Foreman watched as a Chase's faraway look was replaced by a satisfied smile.

"I hope you're not enough of an idiot to try hunting him down?" he asked carefully.

Only now he realized why House had told him and not Chase. He'd wanted someone to know who wouldn't think it was his business to go looking.

"Of course not," Chase said. "He obviously doesn't want to be found."

* * *

_It's a translation of the first chapter of the same name story I'm writing right now on my native language. There are four chapters posted _already_, but English version will definitely go much slower._

_If you like it, please, leave a comment, it will encourage me to translate faster. _


	2. Chapter 2

_My many thanks to StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu for helping me out and editing this chapter in English! And my deep gratitude to Koralina for the inspiration, editing, ideas, interesting discussion and passion with which she's doing it!_**  
**__

* * *

The next day, Chase didn't show up for work. He left a message for Foreman that he was taking an unpaid leave, and hopefully would be back, but he didn't know when. Adam received an email saying that she could consult with Chase if needed. The same message was received by Park. He made girls believe that each had an exclusive opportunity to get help from him.

He began his search for Wilson first. He had tried to find him once, after House's funeral, but relatives said that Wilson had gone to one of the Chicago hospitals, and didn't want to be disturbed. Chase respected oncologist's choice and didn't push any further, though he felt himself obligated to his teacher to take care of his dying friend.

To eliminate the simplest option, where Foreman's conclusion that House was alive was wrong and Wilson was dying in the hospital without his friend, Chase made a phone call to Chicago. As he had expected, they didn't know anything about a patient named James Wilson. He didn't want to trouble the grieving relatives further, knowing that Wilson had kept them in the dark about his whereabouts. So, he had to find another way to locate Wilson, and House along with him.

The best way was to follow the money, and Wilson was not very good at covering his tracks. Chase knew a girl who worked at the department of VISA payment system. He had to listen to the usual tirade about how heartless of a bastard he was, but good sex did wonders. And very soon he received a treasured piece of paper with the latest transactions from Wilson's credit card.

"You know, I risked my career to get you this!"

"Huh," Chase answered, getting a grasp of the fine print, making a note to himself of the last location where, most likely, House made Wilson take out the maximum cash advance in the nearest big city, which was Philadelphia.

"Am I going to see you again?" the girl asked coldly, knowing what a mistake she had made. "You only come see me when you need something."

"Honey, I'm sorry!" Chase drew his attention back to the girl, and throwing the piece of paper to the side, gently hugged her. "Sure, you'll see me again! And it's not like I'm good for nothing for you as well."

He smiled and made his way under the silk underwear, kissing her hips all the way up. How he loved to mix business and pleasure!

cCc

Philadelphia was one of the oldest city's in the US, and standing there on the narrow street with small buildings surrounding him, Chase could feel the history. According to his data, the two friends had been here three months ago. Normally, nobody would have remembered two strangers after so long, but one of them was House, and that was enough.

Using tools like manipulations and lies, the ones he had mastered during his years of working for House, Chase received a description of the two men, older than the average age, on choppers, one of them carrying a cane.

After that, Chase returned to Princeton. He took out quite a lot of cash from his bank account, left behind his credit cards and car, packed up a small bag with personal belongings, and headed to one of the largest motorcycle shops located in another part of the town.

His old dream had come true; he bought a motorbike. Chase didn't understand why he had waited so long to do so.

He didn't like choppers, as they were heavy and hard to control on the road. Sport bikes he liked, of course, but they weren't designed for a long-distance travel. Eventually, he settled on the sport-cruiser since it was the best choice for his current plans, and would be useful when he returned home. Chase was surprised that he was sure he would go back home to Princeton. But even if he settled elsewhere, this kind of motorbike would come handy. He turned on the ignition, enjoying the roar of the engine.

So the chase began. Like the differential diagnosis, bit by bit he gathered available information, using his instincts and how well he knew House and his habits. Certainly, it would have been easier if he had friends in the police department, although it was unlikely that House would be stupid enough to attract their attention. On the other hand, it was House, so anything was possible. Chase smiled again, he was so happy that his former boss was alive, and he didn't care at all whether he wanted to be found or not.

Eventually, Chase was able to follow the main route of other travellers. They were moving to the west, mainly using small, narrow roads and avoiding major cities. Chase confirmed he was on the right track by visiting pharmacies along the way. He knew the approximate list of medications required for Wilson's cancer, and local pharmacists were willing to share that information for only twenty bucks.

Sometimes, of course, he would end up on the wrong track, and he had to return to the last confirmed point and start all over again.

He lost a lot of time when he reached the coast of Los Angeles. Chase was convinced that the two friends would move to the south, but he was wrong. Maybe he wanted to go south himself and enjoy the waves of the Pacific Ocean. But this trip was not about him, so he had to turn around and go back.

The trail broke in San Francisco. Climate and architecture was a bit similar to Princeton. Chase had a hunch that the friends were somewhere in the city. It was the first big city, after Philadelphia and Los Angeles, and possibly House had managed to persuade Wilson to undergo chemotherapy at last. There was also the possibility that the oncologist was too weak to go any further. In any case, Chase went to look for a pharmacy.

Chase's guess was correct – he found a pharmacy, and with it the coffee-shop which was regularly visited by a man with a cane. And now he was sitting at the far corner of the coffee-shop waiting for House to appear. The waitress said that he was coming in at the same time every morning, so Chase arrived a little earlier not to miss the moment.

Heavily leaning on his cane, House entered the coffee-shop and headed straight to the counter to place an order. He didn't notice his former employee closely watching him from under the brim of his cap. He looked a lot worse than the last time Chase had seen him. Obviously, the Australian's worst fears had come true, and Wilson was so bad that they were forced to settle down.

Chase didn't approach House, but discreetly followed him to an apartment in a five-story building. He came closer and watched through the turbid glass of the porch door, as House balanced the coffee in one hand and opened the door with the other. The apartment, as expected, was on the first floor.

Chase had done such a tremendous job, but didn't dare call out to his former boss, or knock at the door. Instead, he settled outside and watched the apartment. During the day a pizza delivery guy had come by, and towards the evening a boy with a couple of bags from the nearest diner. The windows were almost constantly covered with thick curtains, and after dark the light of the flickering TV was seen seeping through them.

The next day, Chase continued his observations and noted that the routine life of his former boss hadn't changed much. The difference was that he wasn't going to work anymore, and his one and only patient was constantly at his home. There was no medical mystery, only the terrible reality of watching someone he cared about so much fade away and being unable to help. A condition Chase knew too well.

Chase realized that his persistence led him here just in time. He'd had a slight hope to find two friends in the joyful pleasure of freedom, but instead he would join them in the most difficult moment of their lives.

* * *

_A/N: I'm so sorry for such a long delay in updating this story, but from now on, I hope I'll do it quite regularly._

_Thank you very much everyone who took their time to review! Please stay tuned and leave a comment, thank you!_


	3. Chapter 3

_StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu thank you very much for your help at beta-reading this story in English! I appreciate it very much! And my deep gratitude to Koralina for the inspiration, editing, ideas, interesting discussion and passion with which she's doing it!_

* * *

The worst part of food delivery was that House had to get up and open the door. Usually he preferred to dump this responsibility on Wilson, but now that his friend was sick, there was no one to do it. He would rather leave the door unlocked, but Wilson had confronted him about it – it wasn't safe. "Then he should get up and open the door himself," House muttered under his breath, opening the door at the same time.

He didn't even look up to see who it was and went back into the room.

"Put the pizza on the counter; your money is there," he said casually to the delivery boy.

Complete silence was the answer to his words, not the rustling that usually followed.

_'The new one, again,'_ House thought irritably to himself, and turned around.

At first House thought it was just another hallucination, especially in view of yesterday's dose of morphine, which he had shared with Wilson. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, nothing had changed.

Chase smiled slightly. He could understand his former boss – the sight was quite unbelievable. And he was glad to see that for a split second the dull and tired look was replaced by pride of the effort that House had put into him. Unfortunately it didn't last long, as a wave of despair and fear of imminent loss returned.

House silently walked back into the room. Chase didn't need a special invitation, for it was enough that he didn't close the door in his face, so he went in on his own. One of the benefits of their long years of working together was that they were able to communicate without words.

Chase walked into the living room where the lights were dimmed and the curtains closed. Wilson – better to say the shadow that was left of him – was lying on the couch in front of the TV, his eyes closed and IV lines nearby.

House hadn't made it to his armchair before there was another ring at the door. However, he just sat down, taking it for granted that Chase would take the order. Now he had someone to pass this annoying obligation to. House didn't need to worry that he would be found because of Chase. He knew that his former employee was smart enough not to bring along a tail, and would be rather discreet and decent enough not to tell anyone about his whereabouts.

House didn't expect that his former employee would be looking for him either. In truth, he had not even thought about that at all, being too concerned about his friend and his health, but now he finally realised how glad he was for the stubborn devotion of the Australian. Now, with Chase by his side, he didn't need to worry about many things, such as not being able to take proper care of his best friend. And of course it was very important to have a doctor like Chase nearby, since he was an intensivist and properly certified to handle seriously ill patients. Nobody would be able to extend Wilson's life better than him.

House closed his eyes. It was the first time in the last three weeks, ever since Wilson's condition had deteriorated, that he finally allowed himself to relax. He was hit by a deep sleep almost instantly.

Chase returned to the living room after answering the door, only to find the two friends sleeping. It was a lunch time and he needed to wake Wilson up, but he didn't want to shock the already sick man with his appearance. And no way he was going to wake up House. He felt ashamed that he hadn't appeared as soon as he found his haggard looking teacher, and had waited several days to do so.

Obviously, both of them needed the help and care, so Chase didn't waste any time. He sorted out the last package of medical supplies, which still lay on the table, and then went into the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes, which told him that Wilson was no longer able to care of such things, and House had never cared since he had always been perfectly fine with one clean glass and fork. Chase cleaned up the kitchen and went into the single bedroom. It was in perfect order, simply because nobody slept there. Obviously, House spent all his time in the chair by his friend's side. Chase could only imagine how uncomfortable it was on his damaged leg.

cCc

House awoke to rustling. He twitched, thinking that Wilson needed something, but it turned out that it was Chase changing the IV.

For a moment, emotions overwhelmed House. For so long, he had shouldered all the responsibility on himself, without a shadow of hope that he might share it with someone, and he never allowed himself to relax and rest. Chase had his back to him and couldn't see as the eyes of his former boss glistened with tears. He didn't need to. Chase would have the opportunity to see House's weakness when Wilson... House didn't want to think about the inevitable. He got up heavily and went to the bathroom.

Chase heard the thud of a cane and turned around, but didn't stop House, allowing him to start a conversation when he was ready. There was nothing to sit on except the couch and the armchair, so Chase brought the chair from the kitchen for himself. He sat down on it, after he'd finished cleaning.

House came back and glanced at the unwrapped pizza on the table. "Are you hungry?"

"Wouldn't mind, but...?" Chase glanced at Wilson.

"It's not for him. He's already on intravenous nutrition mostly, but sometimes he agrees to the soup from the diner."

House wanted to ask Chase how he found them, but didn't. However, Chase guessed what House was thinking and decided to satisfy his teacher's curiosity.

"Foreman blurted it out, and it wasn't easy to find you, but quite possible." A satisfied grin spread across Chase's face.

House grinned as well, imagining Foreman's reaction to the unexpected disappearance of his new head of diagnostics, but then both of them drew their attention back to the prostrate figure of Wilson.

"How bad?" Chase asked.

"He refuses to ask his colleagues for help, because in that case I'll have to disappear. So we don't have any x-rays or MRIs to know exactly how bad it is, but it's obviously not good at all. Plus, he's terrified of going into the hospital. He's afraid that if he does, they won't let him out."

"I can go with him, and then you won't need to disappear. Then I can bring him back under my own responsibility."

House nodded, agreeing with everything that Chase was saying, but then he said,"He won't agree to the treatment. It won't make him live any longer. It'll only waste away what's left of him in the hospital."

"His words or yours?" Chase looked up into the eyes of the man in front of him. He couldn't believe that House could give up so easily.

"What do you expect me to do?!" House asked desperately.

His loud voice woke Wilson, and he opened his eyes.

"What you usually do," Chase answered in a barely audible voice, and stood behind the couch to allow House the opportunity to break the news of Chase's surprise arrival to Wilson.

In the end, Wilson was not surprised. He knew that he could expect anything from House, and Chase as well, and he was happy to see him. The only thing that bothered him was that House may have called Chase because he couldn't take care of him anymore, or needed help. The oncologist couldn't help but notice that his friend was on the verge of exhaustion, both physically and emotionally. The arrival of Chase was a gift from above, and Wilson was too tired to analyse it further, so he just smiled at the young doctor. "It's about time. Glad you could make it."

"Me too. It was fun to torment Foreman, but I got bored quickly." Chase wanted to defuse the conversation a little bit.

"How is it to be the new head of diagnostics?" Wilson asked.

"Nothing new, except that now it's my arse on the line." Chase looked at House. Now he understood how hard it was for House to cover up the extraordinary activities of their department.

Wilson began to cough. Quickly but without fuss, Chase was beside his bed with a glass of water, which the oncologist gratefully accepted. Now his conscience would be clean, because he didn't have to make his limping friend take care of him. Perhaps he should have gone to the hospital when he felt worse but it was no longer important, because Chase was there. Wilson suddenly felt a rush of cold sweat at the thought that maybe Chase was not going to stay, and just found House for fun. He knew that House would not be able to take care of him alone for much longer, and more than anything, he didn't want to spend his last days in the hospital.

"How long are you going to stay with us?" Wilson asked carefully.

Unfortunately, he didn't know Chase as well as House did, so he didn't notice how much his question offended the Australian.

"As long as you need," Chase replied, knowing that now Wilson should be forgiven for many things.

Wilson exhaled with relief and closed his eyes."I'm so tired. And so tired of being tired..." He looked at his friends around him.

"Hold on just a bit, I would like to change your bed, and then you can surrender to Morpheus."

"Or morphine," House muttered.

"As you say," Chase replied, and got back to work.

He changed Wilson's bed linens, cleaned him up and finally shaved him. The oncologist had lost any hope that he would ever feel relieved of stubble, but he didn't want to ask House because his friend was not a big fan of the smooth skin on the face.

All this time House was enjoying his soap opera, sitting in a chair.

Wilson was very tired, the procedures exhausting for a sick person, but he was pleased to feel himself refreshed, so he fell asleep instantly.

"You quickly adjusted to the new rhythm. I suppose it's because your dear mother prematurely brought up such a sense of responsibility in you."

House was still House. Chase didn't answer, but silently collected the sheets to take them to the laundry the next day.

Chase made himself a tea and came back to his uncomfortable chair. "We need to order him a hospital bed."

"I told you, Wilson doesn't like hospitals."

"It's not a hospital, it's only a bed. It's impossible to care for him like this. It will be more convenient for him to adjust the bed rest if he wants to sit up. There are a lot of advantages. Besides, I'm not going to sleep in that chair. You're his friend, not me. I'm here just to help out."

_'Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned his mother'_, House thought to himself. "You can move into the bedroom."

"Don't be silly, you can't sleep on it either. I'm ordering a bed, whether you like it or not."

Chase took out his phone and began sending email inquiries to various contacts at medical supply companies.

House didn't argue. Chase was right.

* * *

_So, do you like it so far? Please let me know, what you think._


	4. Chapter 4

_Many, many thanks to _StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu for editing this story in English! And a lot of thanks to Karolina for helping me out and making this story so much better!__

* * *

Chase's arrival brought along a lot of changes - there was a clear rhythm of patient care, and life in general, with mandatory breakfast, lunch and dinner. And then one day, when Chase returned from grocery shopping, he announced that he had a surprise for them, and wheeled a wheelchair into the living room. The two friends gave him a puzzled look.

"Which one of us is it for?" House asked.

"Not for you, for sure."

At first Wilson protested. He didn't want to show his weakness by sitting in the chair while his friends would be walking, but later he was the one eagerly waiting for their walks in the park or shopping mall. So with fresh air, home-made three course meals provided every day by House, who finally had time to cook, Wilson began to feel much better, at least as well as he could in his current condition.

However, Chase's activities were not limited to taking care of Wilson. House couldn't help but notice how often Chase became lost in reading and replying to e-mails and texts on his mobile device.

"Some new, interactive porno?" House asked with a frown.

Chase just chuckled and silently went into the kitchen to the great displeasure of House. The latter had forgotten how hard it was to elicit a reaction from the Australian.

"Leave him alone," Wilson said, standing up for the younger doctor. "He's doing more than enough for us."

"I didn't ask him."

"But it doesn't mean that we don't need it. Besides, Chase knows that you're grateful for what he's doing."

"You're grateful, not me," House said with a hint of annoyance, but Wilson just shrugged.

"Unlike you, I have no problem with expressing my feelings."

"Interesting...what is he doing out there?" House just couldn't let it go.

"Did you even try to ask?"

"_That_ wouldn't be interesting."

cCc

The next day, Chase was still concerned about something and didn't let go of his phone, leaving House with no chance to get it, but eventually he had to leave it behind to take Wilson to the bathroom. House took advantage of the opportunity immediately.

He eagerly grabbed the smartphone and removed the lock. Results of the patient's analysis flashed on the screen.

"Gotcha!" House smirked to himself, and began to read.

It turned out that all the information was sent by e-mail from Park and Adams, but as it became clear from the correspondence, neither of the girls had any idea that her workmate was also consulting with their boss.

'You smart ass bastard!' House thought to himself proudly. He would have done the same in the similar circumstances. He continued reading, intrigued by the medical side of the case. He liked the approach Chase was taking, liked the way he directed his employees. House had nothing to add – he was proud of his ex-employee, and of himself for making such a great doctor. He turned off the phone, and put it back as soon as he heard Chase and Wilson returning.

By lunchtime, Chase had finally lost interest in whatever he was doing, as if he had solved the case. He relaxed, making small talk with Wilson.

And that was the best time for House to strike.

"So, was it an infection?" House asked innocently, watching for a reaction.

At first Chase didn't understand what he was talking about, but when he did, his eyes widened. "Oh, you bastard! You looked through my phone!"

"Then you shouldn't have left it behind, I suppose. Maybe you wanted me to find out." House couldn't hide his satisfied grin, but when Chase raised an eyebrow, House knew he'd been duped.

"If I was doing something wrong, you would have already rubbed my nose in it."

"That just means you still need your daddy," House replied smugly.

Chase said nothing. They both knew that this little game was more for the sake of House than for Chase's sake, but the Australian didn't want to make his former boss admit it.

"How're the girls?" House asked, changing the subject. "You're giving them a hard time, I see."

"They still have a lot to learn, especially Adams."

"So, you and her...? Still nothing?" House smirked.

Chase rolled his eyes.

"What? She's a hot girl, why not?"

"Cameron was a hot girl too and didn't mind having sex with you, but you didn't, right? I have plenty hot girls elsewhere."

There was no emotion when Chase mentioned Cameron. House was glad that Chase had put the past behind him, once and for all.

"Is there ever going to be another Mrs Chase in the future?" Wilson broke into the conversation, not sure where a discussion about Chase's ex-wife's might go.

Chase shook his head. There was nothing to say. He wasn't planning anything any time soon. He was too preoccupied with medicine. He did want to have a family and children someday, but that meant he would have to devote less time to his work, and he wasn't ready for it. The memories of a workaholic father were too fresh in his mind.

cCc

Two months went by and Wilson wasn't getting better, but most importantly, he wasn't getting worse. House, freed from his obligations to medically tend to his friend, was feeling much better as well, spending most of his time cooking for his own pleasure, or watching TV with his best friend. As for Chase, he was getting tired; the routine was killing him. He began remembering himself as a teenager taking care of his mother. He had to remind himself that Wilson hadn't made himself sick, that it wasn't his fault. But still, it didn't make Chase feel any better. More and more often, Chase had been finding himself wishing he could leave that musty, dark apartment, and not have to go for groceries or meds, but instead be able to take a walk without anything to do or care about.

He wanted to take a ride on his bike, feel the wind on his face and forget about slow walks with Wilson in the wheelchair, being on alert every minute to tend to him if anything went wrong. He wanted to just relax and forget about everything, at least for a while. But instead, he was going to the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee and get back to his duties, the ones he willingly took upon himself. Chase was afraid to analyse the situation, and why he found himself in it, knowing that he would not like the answer.

* * *

_Thank you very much everyone who reviewed, it means a lot and helps me to translate this story further :)_  
__

_Cookie, I'm sorry but Chase can't change anything :(, but Wilson will stay with House for a little while, next couple of chapters for sure._


	5. Chapter 5

_My many thanks to three wonderful people who's editing this story and making it so much better and giving me the pleasure of interesting discussion. So, StormyMonday, UchidaKarasu and Koralina thank you very much!_

* * *

All three doctors knew that this day would come, but it still caught them off guard. Without warning, Wilson's condition began to spiral downward, and painfully so.

Despite Chase and House's best efforts, nothing helped. By the evening, even House, who was still desperately waiting for a miracle, knew that this was the beginning of the end. Acceptance wasn't an option for House, so he left the small apartment. Chase was sure he should have been paying attention, but was too concerned with Wilson to think about House's antics.

The next morning, House was back. As much as he wished that something had changed, nothing had. Wilson slept in a drug-induced slumber, and in the chair next to him was...

House didn't even know what to call Chase anymore. He was no longer his disciple, he wasn't his employee, and soon his friend's position would be vacant. But House didn't want to think about that, and was doing everything he could to forget what was waiting for him, so he went to the kitchen to find another bottle to drown his feelings in.

cCc

Chase slowly opened his eyes, the events of the previous day beginning to take shape in his mind. He checked Wilson's vitals, and then went to make himself a coffee. The more alert he would be the better, because the day was unlikely to be better than yesterday or any day that would follow. Chase wasn't waiting for any assistance from House but he wasn't going to blame him for not helping either, knowing that his teacher was struggling to accept the inevitable, that he was losing his only friend.

Chase didn't react to finding House in the kitchen with a bottle of whisky in his hand. He knew the old diagnostician would accuse him of being judgemental.

In his state of inebriation, House was convinced Chase was about to berate him, as if such irresponsibility was automatically expected of him. How dare Chase condemn him, how dare anyone think they understood his feelings? He remembered Foreman's clumsy attempt to replace Wilson, as if the oncologist had already been buried. His anger replaced despair, and right in front of House was a man he could vent on.

"Didn't dear old daddy ever teach you to knock?" House started, and took another swig from his vice of choice at the moment. "Good morning to you too."

"Nothing's is good about this morning," Chase replied. House was in a bad mood and though his cruel jokes were predictable, it didn't make them any less painful. House always knew how to push his buttons.

"Still trying to ease your guilt?" The Aussie's calmness didn't stop House; it just angered him more, making him intent on forcing Chase to lose it. "You couldn't say goodbye to your daddy, or clean up his shit and vomit. Isn't that why you're here?"

Chase could barely resist the urge to punch House. 'He's hurting' he repeated to himself like a mantra, but it didn't help.

"Wilson is your perfect chance," House continued, sipping from his bottle, "and I'm here as your mommy. What a grand reunion of the Chase family!" He clapped his hands loudly, the liquid in the bottle sloshing around.

"House, stop!" Chase exclaimed threateningly. Wilson needed all his attention, and he wasn't going to be distracted by House.

"Or what?! You wouldn't hurt a loved one, especially when he's drunk and insulting you."

Chase took a few deep breaths to calm down. It wasn't House talking, but the alcohol in his system.

"Good old Chase," House said in a condescending tone. "Was your father, with god knows how many doctorate degrees, so stupid that he didn't realize leaving his son with an alcoholic mother would determine his future? You're pathetic. Until the end of your days you'll seek out people who insult, humiliate, and use you."

"House, you know I can kick your arse, but I'll do it when I please, so stop trying to piss me off. If you can't deal with pain, it's not my problem," Chase replied calmly, and took his cup of coffee and left the kitchen. He knew what House was trying to prove but the words still hurt, because in some way, he was right.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me and run!" House yelled after him.

'How dare he treat me like this?! Go on, let him have it!' House's blood began to boil – the independence of his former employee was infuriating. Where would Chase be now, if not for him?! A quiet voice inside tried to calm him and to hint that it may be the opposite; that if Chase had never met House, he might be sitting in a warm living room with a loving wife and a couple of kids, but the voice was not strong enough so House ignored it, rose unsteadily, and stumbled into the living room.

Chase looked anxiously toward Wilson, fearing that House's resolve to continue the confrontation in the living room would wake him. He had to do something, and quickly.

"If you're going to ignore me, then get out of here! We don't need you!"

Instead of answering, Chase got up and quickly moved toward House. For an instant, it seemed like Chase was going to hit him but instead, Chase just grabbed House and pushed into the hallway. As House was recovering from the surprise attack, he found himself on the other side of a locked door.

"I'm sorry House, it's just not the right time," Chase called through the door. "Come back when you're sober. And don't even try to make a scene, because I won't open the door. If the neighbours call the police, you know what will happen."

Chase stood at the door until he heard the thud of the cane. Perhaps he had hurt House, but he really was not up to playing House's games. He had to get back to Wilson, who was having a nasty surge of vomiting when he was awake. And he was going to wake up soon.

cCc

House came back in the evening, sober, sad and with a large package of food. Chase stared at him, as if assessing his condition and what to expect from him. In another situation, House would have mocked Chase about his mother, that she trained her son in such behaviour, but he knew that he had already crossed the line and said too much. He silently looked into the living room to see how his friend was doing, and then went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and came back.

"Food's from the French restaurant. It opened recently in the city centre. It has pretty high ratings, so you should like it, " House said, apologetic.

"Thanks, but I ordered pizza." Chase didn't even look at him.

"Ok then, let's save it for tomorrow." House didn't argue, preferring not to provoke a new conflict, and without any more words sank into a chair.

The rest of the evening went in silence. Chase was tending to Wilson, and House was trying to assess the extent of the damage he'd done during his morning outburst. When he was eventually able to make eye contact with Chase, there was no anger, but there wasn't any forgiveness either. He knew that they would need to talk it out one day, but right now all his worries were about Wilson. He swore that he would not touch a bottle while Wilson was by his side and fighting to stay with him as long as he could.

* * *

_My deep gratitude to everyone who took their time to comment, it means a lot and encourages me to translate faster._

_Many of you asked me not to kill Wilson, I can't do it, but there will be a lot of Wilson in the next two chapters, I hope you'll like it._


	6. Chapter 6

_My many thanks to StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu for helping me out and editing this chapter in English, I wouldn't make it without you! _And my deep gratitude to Koralina for the inspiration, editing, ideas, interesting discussion that keeps me going :)__

* * *

House's words hit a nerve. Chase couldn't hide from himself anymore, and he couldn't continue living as he'd been the past few weeks. He needed time to step back and think, so he told House that Wilson was in his care and left.

He decided to ride his motorbike around the city, not set on any particular destination, just enjoying the sights as an average tourist. He visited the M. H. de Young Memorial Museum, impressed by the huge building completely covered in copper. Later in the afternoon, he crossed the famous Golden Gate bridge and headed out to Sequoia National Park. Unbelievably grand, ancient trees highlighted to the frailty of existence, and how worthless and short human life was.

Amongst the peace and quiet splendour of the majestic sequoia trees, Chase was finally able to stop and ask himself questions he'd been too afraid to answer: was he really seeking out people who didn't care about him, and were they only using him for their own benefit? His relationship with Cameron was a perfect example. He let out a deep sigh. Maybe his countless adventures with women were just protection. While he used them, they couldn't use him, which meant that he was safe. In that case, he wanted to be safe another night.

Chase got up and looked up to the sky where grand treetops mingled with a bright blue sky and puffy, white clouds.

With one last look at the tranquil surroundings, he picked up his helmet and went to his motorbike. He hadn't gotten a chance to get acquainted with the city's nightlife, but he knew that it was some of the most famous in the U.S. It would have been unforgivable to completely miss the opportunity however, so he parked in the city centre, and went into a crowded nightclub nearby.

Loud music played and scantily clad women danced, some with a drink in hand, while others sat at the bar, with and without dates. Chase's face broke into a wide grin. How he had missed this! His flirting skills, combined with good looks and his Australian accent, meant that it wasn't long before he was navigating his motorbike behind a brand new, red BMW convertible toward the apartment of a new friend. She was younger than he was, and very beautiful. He had lied to her, saying that he was in town from Australia on business for a few days. That way, she wouldn't try to contact him afterwards.

The sex was hot and passionate, and should have been enough to distract Chase from his troubles, but to his dismay, he couldn't take advantage of the circumstances and relax. Just a couple of hours of sleep later, his mind was back with House and Wilson. How was House coping alone? Was Wilson feeling worse? He couldn't understand why he couldn't stop thinking about them. Wilson was not his responsibility, and neither was his mother so many years ago. He didn't have to take care of either of them. When he was young, he felt obligated to do the right thing, but now that he was older, he shouldn't be feeling that guilt anymore.

Chase turned on his side and looked at the beautiful face of his sleeping companion. Normally, he would have left without saying goodbye while she slept, but now he had nowhere to go except back to old friends, and he wasn't ready for that yet.

He laid back, and after several unsuccessful attempts to sleep, began to tease the girl gently. Very soon her sleepy grumbling was replaced by satisfied moans. Chase smiled and continued until the loud cries of pleasure filled the empty spaces of the fashionable loft, and eventually the sweaty and exhausted lovers fell onto the bed. Chase finally allowed himself to forget everything and relax.

cCc

He woke up to the delicious smell of French toast and fresh coffee. The scent reminded him of why he preferred to leave early – breakfast meant that she would want to see him again, and parting would be filled with the girl's longing looks and sad sighs. Fortunately, his false story about a business trip allowed him to get away as quickly and painlessly as possible, but he still didn't want to go back to House and Wilson.

Only by the evening he had rested enough to be ready to meet with the despair and pain of approaching death yet again. He sighed, summoned his courage, and knocked.

House opened the door almost immediately. Gratitude and gladness so clearly read in the eyes of the old man made Chase feel uncomfortable. Never before could he read his ex-boss so clearly. Obviously, House was afraid that he'd finally managed to run Chase off so he wouldn't return.

"Want some dinner?" House asked.

Chase shook his head. He put his helmet away and took off his jacket. He knew that he smelled of perfume and House wouldn't miss it, but no comments followed. Apparently, the nearly two days away hadn't been easy on House, and he had taken the opportunity to evaluate the contribution of the young doctor in their lives.

"Go take care of Wilson, and I'll cook something. I'm starving."

Chase nodded, changed his clothes, washed his hands and took his post at the bedside. Nothing had changed. House was busy in the kitchen, and Wilson was lying in bed with his eyes closed. Chase didn't know whether he was sleeping on his own, or if it was drug induced. Everything was just like before, as if he hadn't left the makeshift hospital room behind.

Chase was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Wilson had woken up and was staring at him.

"Thank you, for coming back," he said in a hoarse voice.

Chase offered him a glass of water. Wilson drank, and coughed slightly. Obviously, he noticed the absence of Chase and may have guessed the reason, so the young diagnostician decided to ask the question that had been bothering him for so long. "Why do you still put up with him?"

"You really want to know the secret?" Wilson smiled weakly.

"Yeah, I do," Chase answered with a smile. He didn't want to bother the sick man, but if Wilson wasn't going to sleep anyway a little conversation couldn't hurt, and could distract him from his illness for a while.

Wilson pondered the question that had tormented him for many years. Then, summoning all his strength, he tried to give an answer with a weak, raspy voice so unlike the one he had before.

"House is a drug. We accuse him of drug abuse, but we're not much different from him. He's unique and makes our lives as unique as he is. Life is so interesting with him, that without him it's unbearably boring. You never know what to expect from him, but at the same time, you do know that it's pretty damn cool, in a demented way." The eyes of the sick man were shining. "And you get addicted so quickly," the oncologist continued. "I would say that you know you're addicted, but you go even further than that. You become a drug yourself, the same as he is. And very soon, Foreman will realize that he can't be without you."

"Thank you," Chase said politely. He regarded the comparison to House as a compliment.

"You think that's a good thing?" the oncologist asked bitterly. "It's so lonely on this road, believe me. As much as I tried to have a family, to lead an ordinary life, nothing helped. My many marriages are proof."

"House believes that you just made poor choices."

"Of course he thinks so! As if he didn't have a hand in all my divorces and - " Wilson paused, not wanting to remember Amber.

"It wasn't his fault," Chase whispered, barely audible.

"I know, but it doesn't make me feel better."

Chase regretted that he'd started this conversation with the dying man.

"It's fine." Wilson felt the discomfort of the young man. "I think about it all the time. If it weren't for House, maybe I would be dying with my family, my wife and children by my side. Or I wouldn't be dying at all. But that wouldn't have been me. Our choices are what we are, and I made mine."

Chase nodded, and stood up. "I think I've made mine as well."

He was standing over him, adjusting the IV line, when Wilson asked quietly, "Why did you choose this?"

Chase looked at him with the question in his eyes, and Wilson continued.

"Why are you still with House? You...you had everything. You left him, and married the woman you loved. Why did you and Cameron break up?" Wilson noticed how Chase tensed at the question. "Chase, I'm dying," he added softly. "You can trust me."

Chase chuckled at the irony. Cameron promised him the same thing. He shook his head, and with the words "I'll be right back," left the room, leaving behind the bewildered oncologist. Who refuses to answer a simple question from a dying man? Or maybe it was not so simple. One never knew when House's team was involved.

When he began to question House on the same subject, it turned out even more mysterious. The way he was diverting away from answering the question and trying to laugh it off made Wilson even more intrigued. His friend wasn't an open person, but never missed the opportunity to gossip about others either.

"Well now, I just can't die until I know what really happened!" he said loudly, banging his hand on the bed when House tried to change the subject again.

"I'm glad Chase and I gave you a reason to live," House replied with sarcasm.

For Wilson, knowing the truth instantly became an obsession. Once, when Chase went out for meds, Wilson decided to use the last argument, which he was saving as his last resort.

"I'm dying House, and want to know the truth."

"But that's just so unfair, my friend. You know I can't say "no" to that!" House answered dramatically.

"I'm not kidding. What are you hiding? Did he have an affair?"

House rolled his eyes.

"What could Chase possibly have done to make Cameron leave him?"

"Why do you always have to pick on Chase?" House protested. "It's so unfair!"

"Cameron would have never done something like that," Wilson replied, surprised. He continued, "It's so stupid to hide something from me. It's not like I'll get up and tell anyone."

House was silent. He wanted to share it with his friend; he wanted to tell him everything, but it wasn't his burden.

"Please, regard this as my dying wish." Wilson felt that House was ready to give up, so he just had to push a little further.

"So you want me to cancel the three hot hookers I booked for your farewell party?"

Wilson rolled his eyes – there was no party and there were no hookers. He looked at House, silently demanding and making it clear that he had no choice.

House took a deep breath. "Promise me you won't tell anyone and won't –" House paused. "–won't treat him differently."

Wilson nodded, but House knew his friend and his moral principles too well. Though the oncologist wrote that speech about euthanasia, it had nothing to do with the murder Chase committed. House decided to tell the secret, only because he knew that Wilson didn't have a lot of time left. He was just hoping that his friend wouldn't tell Chase that he knew. The Australian had been through enough.

"Do you remember we had a patient, the dictator from some god-forsaken African Republic?"

Wilson nodded slightly, remembering something, and House continued, "Chase killed him."

As soon as House finished speaking, he looked up at Wilson.

Wilson said nothing. If House was joking, it wasn't one of his best punch lines. He looked into the eyes of his friend and realized that he was dead serious. But if this wasn't a joke, then...

"So now, did I satisfy your curiosity?" House asked, and looked away.

"How?" Wilson was just trying to comprehend what he just learned.

"Switched the test results so we treated for the wrong disease." House knew that it wasn't the question Wilson really meant to ask, but decided to answer the question regardless.

Wilson was lying in silence, trying to grasp what he just heard. What could cause a person to take such a sin upon his shoulders? He knew that Chase still had faith in him, no matter what, and could only imagine how tormenting it was for a young man to do such thing.

"Why?" he asked finally. There had to be a reason.

"He felt sorry for the millions of Africans, who Dibala was about to destroy." House shook his head, clearly not sharing the motives of the Australian.

"As far as I remember, it was Cameron who didn't want to treat him, not Chase. Wasn't it like she persuaded..."

Wilson didn't even finish the question, when House interrupted angrily, "If that was her doing, she wouldn't have left him after."

What Chase did was his decision, and House wasn't going to deprive him of that. Chase was first and foremost a person, and only after that his ex-employee and Cameron's ex-husband.

"So I see." Wilson looked at his friend. "And you?"

"What about me? Did I push him to do it? No, though she thinks otherwise," House replied bitterly.

"No, I mean did you give him a hand with it?"

"No, just helped cover it up. Chase is smart, but his Catholic guilt prevented him from thinking clearly."

Wilson shook his head in disbelief. He recalled every occasion when he had to accelerate the coming of death in his patients. It was always a painful decision, but faces filled with agony and no hope for a cure were always pushing him to do it. Could he kill a person, knowing that if he would cure him, he would bring suffering and death to other people? He didn't know the answer, but he was glad that he didn't have to make that choice.

"Well, what do you think?" House asked cautiously.

"What do I think? Wow! Just wow! You raised a worthy successor!" Wilson chuckled lightly.

"Why does this have to be about me?" House asked, angry. "Don't start that 'I've poisoned Chase so that he can't even see the sanctity of a human life anymore, therefore it's easy for him to commit murder'. First of all, Cameron has said that already, and secondly, the hell he doesn't value human life. That's exactly why he did it, because he does value human life. And believe me, it didn't come easy for him. She would have known that if she hadn't been so selfish."

"Hey, calm down, I'm not going to behave like Cameron, who would have kissed you on the cheek and left a long time ago. Or do I need to go on a date with you first before you believe me?" Wilson joked to reduce the tension and soothe House. Who knew that it was still a sore subject for him? House was defending Chase, once again. It meant that even after Wilson was gone, there would still be a person in House's life that he cared about.

"All I'm saying is that knowing Chase, I'm sure he weighed all options and came to the right decision in terms of saving lives, even if it destroyed him. Don't you see the resemblance?"

"Nonsense!" House grunted, but Wilson could see the pride in his eyes. "I don't care about anybody, and I certainly don't give a rat's ass about the people and problems of some country whose name I don't even remember."

"Keep telling yourself that and maybe one day you'll actually believe it."

House glared at Wilson, but the latter just grinned. "Thank you for telling me."

"Do you feel better?" House asked with irony in his voice.

"No, but now everything makes sense."

"But please, put your pity face away when Chase comes back, okay? I don't want him knowing I sold him out."

Wilson nodded. For a short time, the conversation distracted him from his current condition, but now the pain was coming back. He looked up at his IV lines, hinting House that he wanted to sleep.

"Okay, just a second." House increased the dose of morphine. "Sweet dreams."

* * *

_Thank you very much everyone who took their time to review! _

_I hope you like it so far, please let me know, what you think. _


	7. Chapter 7

_I never thought that there will ever be the time when I'll spend it on fan fiction, because _I'm a mother of three kids, and in case you don't know it's a full time job :)_ But here I am, and more than anyone I want to thank for it my wonderful editors: Koralina, StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu!_

* * *

With every passing day, Wilson was getting worse. By the end of the next week, he was nearly unable to talk, and only asked to have the dose of morphine increased. House and Chase didn't argue, knowing that nothing more could be done to help him.

House didn't leave his friend's bedside. He still hoped that he could dispel the gloomy atmosphere with jokes and light conversation. Wilson appreciated his efforts, but had no more strength to reciprocate. He could only smile back slightly, and close his eyes almost immediately.

While House was trying to defuse the situation, Chase was concerned about another matter. It was no longer the routine killing him, or thoughts about his troubled childhood, but more about how to send Wilson on his final journey. Where they were going to bury Wilson? Would his friends and relatives come to to say goodbye? And what about House? What if he wanted to be at the funeral? Chase knew the stubbornness of his teacher, and he knew that nothing would stop him if he wanted to be there, even the possibility of another prison term.

Chase was distracted from his thoughts by House's dry voice. "He wants to talk to you."

Chase looked up at him. Recently, he had been trying to keep his presence in the living room to a minimum, knowing that they didn't have much time left, and House wanted to spend as much of it with his friend as possible. A third wheel was definitely unwanted. However, Chase didn't argue, and silently walked into the living room.

Wilson was lying with his eyes closed, but Chase could tell that he wasn't sleeping because his features were too tense. Chase didn't indicate his presence and quietly sat down, waiting for Wilson to acknowledge him. Thirty minutes later, Wilson was still laying there, while Chase continued to sit silently nearby, House watching from the doorway.

Finally, House got tired of waiting and left. As if sensing House's departure, Wilson opened his eyes. Maybe this was what he had been waiting for, though Chase could not tell for sure. If so, it meant that Wilson didn't want House to hear what he had to say, and whatever it was couldn't be good. There was almost nothing in the oncologist's life that House didn't know.

"It's not your first time seeing someone fade away and die. You were there when Amber... " Wilson didn't finish, and swallowed painfully.

Chase nodded, letting him know that he didn't need Wilson to continue. He remembered that tragic day when they had found her, only to lose her again. He waited for Wilson to explain what he was trying to say, but the oncologist just continued to stare at him, and after some time, it hit Chase. It was not about the loss of a loved one, and not of death itself – it was about what Wilson wanted Chase to do for him now.

"No!" Chase protested, holding up a hand. "No! Please don't make me do that!"

Tears streamed down Wilson's face. "I can't take it any more."

Chase was silent. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do that to House. He would never forgive him for taking his friend's life before the cancer did.

"I can ask ... House," Wilson said, barely audible. "He'll give in eventually. He never could say 'no' to me... but can you imagine what it would be like for him to live with it?

Chase shook his head. Wilson had just asked him to end his suffering, so he would not have to torment House with the same pleading desire. Although he understood the reasons that led to this request, it didn't make it any easier. This was why doctors shouldn't treat their friends. Yes, he often ignored that rule, but this was different.

"Tell me the code ... I'll do it myself." Wilson was barely able to speak, but there was a frightening determination in his eyes.

Obviously the pain was unbearable, and Chase was the only person Wilson could ask. But he didn't want to be in this position, and he just couldn't make that choice. He stood up abruptly and ran out of the room, nearly knocking House down, who was coming into the room at that moment.

By Chase's and Wilson's reactions, it was obvious to House the conversation wasn't easy on either one of them. He wasn't going to ask his friend about it, because it was clear that he was depressed enough already. Chase was a different matter, though. Something was tormenting the only people who chose to stay with him, and for some reason, they didn't want his help.

The young doctor sat staring into space, nervously fiddling with the phone. For a moment it seemed to House that Chase was in silent prayer, but he didn't get the chance to confirm it, because Chase turned to look at him. House never understood how the Australian knew when he was watching him, as if some sixth sense warned him of House's approach.

"What happened?" House asked gently, and then, feeling that he sounded too serious, added, "Wilson left you his fortune, and your decency prevents you from accepting it?"

Chase gave him a sad smile. It was so like House to make a joke out of everything.

"When I chose this stupid profession, I thought I would be helping people, not watching them suffer and die."

'As they beg for death.' That was what he really wanted to say, but he didn't. House had suffered enough already.

"I could be wrong, but it seems to me that a lot of people come out alive thanks to you, so there is no reason to sit here and drown in self-pity." House looked at him. Of all his ducklings, Chase was the one who was always ready to accept that sometimes patients died. So the question was, what had changed?

"And besides, I'm the one who's afraid to watch his friend die, not you. So get yourself together and act as a doctor, not a pussy!" House paused, sighing before asking the question that really troubled him. "What did he say?"

Chase looked up at him but said nothing. Did House really have no idea what Wilson was asking? Or maybe he just wanted to have some ignorance with his bliss. Which meant that from the five stages, House was still on the first one – denial. Chase was not going to deprive him of his illusions.

"He mentioned Amber."

"And that made you so upset?"

Chase was silent, not knowing how to answer. A fantasy played out in his mind. He was telling House the truth and asking the older man for his blessing to kill his friend, because without that he couldn't do it. But when he made eye contact with the old diagnostician, he realized that this fantasy would remain just that. Never before had his ex-boss looked at him so openly and naïvely. He did not want to know the truth, as did the majority of his patient's relatives. As House said, it was his job as a doctor to reassure the patient's family, while family and friends remained at the patient's bedside.

His teacher was not an idiot, and in the end would recognize that Wilson was entitled to end his suffering. And if not, Chase was there to take care of them both and do all the dirty work himself, allowing House to remain ignorant. Perhaps it was that trust and willingness with which House let him be a doctor, which left House with the role of a friend ... maybe that was that blessing that Chase was waiting for. Maybe through that, House was saying 'Come on, my friend, do what you must, but leave me out of it.' This thought brought Chase relief. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I'm just tired; it'll go away," he said, barely above whisper.

Chase thought that having his answer, House would turn and leave, but instead he came closer, putting a hand on Chase's shoulder and squeezing lightly, as if thanking Chase for sparing him the truth. On the other hand, for all Chase knew, it could have just been a deception to keep Chase functioning, and there was no underlying meaning to it. But Chase desperately wanted to read more into it, and believe that he had received House's approval.

cCc

Chase had made a decision to help Wilson, but it was still a long road from deciding something to actually doing it. He continued to stall for time, convincing himself that Wilson could still get better, and that if he hurried he could make the mistake of taking away precious time Wilson and House had left. As a result, Chase approached Wilson only when he was sure that Wilson was fast asleep, and could not continue the conversation. He tried to ignore the groans of the sick man, and didn't want to think that his indecision was only causing unnecessary pain. As much as he wanted to hide, or better yet leave, he couldn't shake off all the responsibilities of caring for the dying man.

And then one day, Chase's worst fear came true. Wilson grabbed his hand and stared into the frightened eyes of the Australian. Chase thought he knew what he was going to say, that he was ready for anything no matter how unpleasant it may be, but the oncologist surprised him.

"You killed a man ... I know."

Wilson's tone did not leave even the possibility for disputes, and Chase didn't have to think twice to know who told him.

"You've already killed once. Why don't you want to help me?"

Wilson knew that he was being unfair, but it didn't worry him at all. He knew that the man before him could help him stop his suffering, once and for all.

"I do want to help you! But you're asking ..."

"Just tell me the code ..." Wilson made slight nod to the morphine button. He saw that the young doctor was ready to give in, but if it would be easier for Chase to live with fact that he only told him the code, Wilson was ready to give him that. Eventually, Wilson would have his way, and it didn't matter how he got it.

"In that case, I can do it myself as well." Chase smiled bitterly. He was definitely House's successor, unwilling to hide behind the excuse that the figures could not kill anyone.

"Then do it."

"House ..."

"It's not about House ... and it's not about you ... I can't take it any more..." There was so much pain in Wilson's voice that Chase shuddered.

More than anything, he wanted to run away, as far away as possible, but he didn't. This was a profession he chose for himself. Helping people by deeds, not words and prayers, as he once said. It was time.

"Please ..."

Chase looked into Wilson's eyes. The oncologist was right – it wasn't about him, or about House.

"328," Chase said, barely audible, and for the first time in a long time he felt tears stream down his cheeks. "Do you want me to do this now?"

Wilson shook his head, repeating the numbers to himself so he would not forget when he needed it. He felt shame for what he'd done to Chase, the way he manipulated him, but for once in his life he wanted to put his own interests above others.

* * *

_A/N: Feedback is highly appreciated._


	8. Chapter 8

_My many thanks to my wonderful betas: Koralina, StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu, without whom I would never have done so far._

_A little warning for Wilson lovers, it happens in this chapter, I'm very very sorry :(_

* * *

Days went by. Every minute, Chase waited to hear the shrill sound of the monitor, meaning that Wilson finally used the information he had given him. He'd been through this before, when Foreman agreed to change Dibala's treatment after Chase faked his test results. The only difference was that now, the man on his deathbed had the opportunity to decide, and God knew he had every right to do so. Deep down in his heart though, Chase hoped that Wilson would not do it.

The phone vibrated in his pocket, indicating that he had received an e-mail. Chase nodded to himself satisfyingly. Park did exactly what he asked her to, and got a phone number he needed without further questioning.

A few years ago, if someone would have told him that he would be asking for help from _this_ man, he would have laughed in their face. Not that he had anything against him, but the guy hated him. Chase didn't know whether anything had changed after he saved his life, but he had no other option. The fact that he left Princeton-Plainsboro and moved to the west coast made Chase's choice even more convenient. He could get from San Francisco to Los Angeles in a few hours by car.

Chase went outside to make the call. He knew that these issues needed to be resolved, but it didn't change the fact that he was, in fact, burying Wilson while the latter was still alive. House didn't need to hear it. It had been enough that a couple of days ago, Chase had started a conversation with House about Wilson's funeral. It was a tough call, especially since House continued to pretend that Wilson was doing fine. He had been lucky that his ex-boss hadn't accused him of being callous. Eventually though, House had agreed with everything he had suggested. Maybe he just didn't care, or was ready to accept everything Chase had been saying, as long as Chase would leave him alone, and not remind him of the inevitable.

_'The person you're trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message at the tone.' _Chase cursed and went inside. He was able to reach the man later that night, however.

cCc

"Hey Treiber."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The Australian knew that he didn't need to introduce himself – his accent spoke for itself.

"Hello Dr Chase."

"How are you doing?" Chase asked politely.

"You don't give a damn how I'm doing. What do you want?" Despite the harsh words, Treiber's voice was calm.

"A favour."

"I've gathered that much."

"I've heard you moved and are now working at UCLA. The same speciality?"

"Yes, but also I teach the younger generation how to deal with crappy doctors."

"Good for you."

"So what do you want?"

"Wilson is dying, Stage IV Thymoma. He doesn't have much time left. We're not far from Los Angeles, and then I'll need to take him to New Jersey."

"My condolences, but why do you need me?"

Chase was silent for a moment, then told him cautiously, "Wilson is not in the hospital; he's at home with me. And I ..." Chase paused, not sure whether he had to admit it, and then continued, "I'm not quite using the conventional treatment."

"There is no treatment."

"I know," Chase said sternly and barely restrained himself from calling Treiber an idiot.

Chase's tone helped Treiber realise what he had in mind.

"Okay, I get it. Call me when it's over."

"Thank you," Chase said sincerely.

"It's too early for that. I still can call the police, you know."

Chase knew Treiber was not joking. It seemed that the man had no sense of humour. But he was honest and straightforward, and if he hadn't refused Chase immediately then at least Treiber was considering the possibility to help him, and that was all Chase needed right now. Treiber would be easier to manipulate than a complete stranger.

"Maybe,'" Chase replied calmly. "See you, Treiber."

cCc

The sharp, shrill squeal of the monitor cut through the silence of the room, and Chase had never felt it so strongly. He stood in the doorway, watching as House leaned over his friend with a defibrillator in his hands and charging again and again. Chase didn't help him; instead he just stood there and watched. Even if they had revived Wilson, it wouldn't have been for long. They both knew it, but House was still trying. At one point, House turned to him, begging him to do something, but Chase just shook his head. He could not bring people back from the dead. He silently came up and turned off the monitor, showing that it was over. That sobered House, and he put aside the electrodes, lowering his hands.

The deathly silence was broken by House's quiet voice. "Time of death: 11:56 p.m."

Chase didn't move. Now that it was over, he was waiting for House to make the first move. Did he want to cry out, or somehow respond to the death of his one and only friend? He waited for some kind of emotion from House, but it turned out that he had nothing left.

"Are you going to say goodbye?" Chase asked cautiously.

House did not respond.

"Then we need to go," Chase said quietly, as if he was going to take Wilson to the hospital to do more tests and not to the morgue.

He felt like a heartless bastard, but now wasn't the time to be emotional. He would have the opportunity to mourn Wilson later.

Chase didn't know whether Wilson died a natural death or if he had used the code to exceeded his dose of morphine. In truth, he didn't want to know, and didn't want to take one more sin upon himself.

House nodded, barely noticeable, but it was enough for Chase to take action. He grabbed the bag he had prepared earlier and ran outside to bring the car closer to the entrance. Then he returned, covered the lifeless body in a blanket, and looked up at House. He was sitting in his chair, quite motionless and staring into nothing. He knew that House needed time, so he decided to leave and take Wilson with him. Chase only hoped that House wouldn't give up on himself, because now that Wilson was dead, nothing was important to him.

"We're going," he said once again and walked to House, who didn't even look up at him.

Chase knelt down to get his attention and looked him in the eyes. He had to make sure that House wasn't going to attempt suicide while he was away. Everything else he could handle when he got back.

"I'll be back," he said firmly.

House looked up at him and nodded his head slightly. It was not quite the answer Chase was waiting for, but it was enough for now.

Chase rose. He was leaving House with a heavy heart, and he hoped that everything would proceed without any complications.

As cautiously as he could, he lifted Wilson's body, and carried it to the car he'd borrowed from a talkative pharmacist. The willingness of women to please him sometimes was very useful, although he swore that he would never give anyone his car, because it could be used to move a corpse like he was doing now.

Chase sat behind the wheel looking at the lighted road ahead of him. It was going to be another long, sleepless night.

* * *

_I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and New Year! Wish you all good luck!_

_And I would like to know are you still there and reading and should I bother with translation further?_


	9. Chapter 9

_My many thanks to__ UchidaKarasu, __StormyMonday__ and Koralina __ for editing this story and making it so much better!_

* * *

Treiber was awakened by his ringing phone, wondering why he hadn't turned the damned thing off. For a while he just lay still, hoping that whoever was on the other line would change their mind and hang up.

He was wrong. Irritably throwing his covers aside, Treiber sat up and reached for his phone.

"Hello?" he growled, annoyed. To hell with good manners. Anyone who called in the middle of the night should expect a rude response.

"I'll be in L.A. in about an hour. Send me the address."

Treiber angrily stared at the phone as if it were to blame for interrupting his slumber. He couldn't believe the guy on the other end had enough nerve to wake him in the middle of the night without so much as a greeting or apology, and start making demands.

"I didn't agree to you waking me up in the middle of the night!" he hissed.

"You should be thankful that I didn't call earlier." After so many hours behind the wheel, Chase was so tired that he didn't care what time it was when he called the pathologist. However, he hadn't forgotten that he was the one in need of a favour, and therefore added, "If I were as heavy a sleeper as you, you'd be dead now."

"I knew you were going to play that card."

"And yet you agreed."

"I was interested."

"If you're still interested, send me the address."

"And if not?" Treiber asked quietly. He was never fond of emotional conversations, especially with House's disciples.

"I'll find someone else."

"You have no other place to go."

They both knew that Treiber was Chase's only option, and truth to be told he had already made up his mind to help Chase, but that didn't mean that he didn't want to understand how badly Chase needed it.

"I'll find someone else, believe me." It was bravado, but what else could Chase say?

"You expect me to believe you? It's unlikely," Treiber laughed into the phone.

"Then what do you want from me?" Chase asked wearily. Treiber could be described by many words, but _idiot_ wasn't one of them.

"For example, an open recognition of the fact that you need my help, and you have no other way. House never taught you to ask?"

Instead of answering, Chase simply ended the call. If it had been anyone else, Treiber would have never talked to him again, but he owed the Australian.

The time he spent as a patient of the diagnostics department made him reconsider many things. He realized that nothing was as it seemed. Working for House didn't guarantee promotion or professional growth, quite the contrary. Treiber sighed, imagining himself in the blond's place, and began writing a message.

Chase pressed on the gas pedal with full force, causing the poor car to stretch its limits and exceeding the speed limit badly. He knew the last thing he needed was to run into police, but that didn't stop him, either.

After talking with Treiber, he realised how tired he was, and not just from the sleepless hours he'd spent behind the wheel. There was a price to pay for finding House, and the bill was on its way. Chase knew that House was always pushing boundaries, forcing people into deep soul-searching, and a full revaluation of everything they used to know. But even he didn't expect that taking care of Wilson in his last days would make him feel so drained, both physically and emotionally. He, who was a master of manipulation in the diagnostics department as House used to point out to him, did not have the strength or the desire to deal with Treiber. More than anything, he wanted it all to end as quickly as possible.

A minute later, his phone beeped, announcing that a message had been received. It was the address. Chase didn't want to think about what made Treiber change his mind. Without taking his eyes off the road, he put the address into the car's GPS. He still had sixty miles to go.

When he made it to the location, Treiber was waiting for him at the entrance. Together, they silently moved the body to a stretcher. However, when Chase began to follow him, Treiber motioned the blond to stop.

"No, you have to wait here. I'm already breaking too many rules for you."

Chase just nodded and walked back to the car, trusting Treiber to do what needed to be done. He could barely stand, so a couple of hours of sleep wouldn't hurt at all. No matter how exhausted he felt though, he couldn't stop thinking that soon he would have the answer to whether or not he was to blame for Wilson's death. He was trying to persuade himself that he didn't want to know the truth, because it would be easier for him to lie to House. Deep down, however, he knew that it was only an excuse.

cCc

"Hello, Dr. Wilson. Shall we?"

Treiber looked over the man who he had once called a colleague. An unusual feeling of nervousness puzzled him. It wasn't his place to care. This man wasn't his friend and definitely wasn't his problem, yet he couldn't stop thinking about what happened and how it related to Chase. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to help.

Hours later, he was tensely awaiting the blood test results, and finally the screen lit up with the long-awaited data. Treiber took a long look at the results, pondering his subsequent actions. He could include the truth in the report but the result would be Chase losing his medical license, and possibly receiving prison time. It would not change anything for Wilson but would dramatically reduce the chances of other patients, because statistically the Australian was a good surgeon and _definitely_ not the worst diagnostician.

He printed the results before deleting them, and then wrote the final report. At the same time, he performed the next blood test manually so there would be no chance of anything leaking into the hospital database.

A few hours later, Treiber had finished all paperwork, folded the original blood test results for an easy fit in his pocket, and went outside with all the paperwork in a folder to find Chase and confirm that everything was done.

The Australian was fast asleep on the reclined driver's seat. Treiber stopped, peering through car window at the tired, even aged face of his former opponent. Once again, he remembered what Chase had been through. Was this the consequence of taking care of Wilson, or something else? If working for House cost that much, then maybe Treiber was lucky to have never made it to the diagnostics department. Maybe he should thank Chase for not only saving his life but his peace of mind, as well.

He knocked on the window and Chase jumped, startled. It took him a moment to recover and remember where he was. He opened the driver's side door but didn't come out of the car.

"Here," Treiber said, handing him a folder. "This is the report with complete information. The body will be taken to the airport in an hour and loaded on the 9 p.m. flight to Newark. You can still catch it, if you want."

Chase nodded gratefully. The pathologist had done even more than he could have hoped for. He looked at the folder in his hands. It didn't matter how differently people lived – in the end, everyone was just a set of numbers in the report of a Pathologist.

"You said you weren't far away from L.A.," Treiber began cautiously. "Why didn't you come right away? Death occurred at least six hours ago."

"I couldn't come sooner," Chase said quietly, hoping that Treiber didn't ask too many questions.

"Don't you want to know if I had to falsify the report?" Treiber asked, putting his hand in his pocket to take out the piece of paper.

At that moment, Chase looked up sharply. The fatigue in his eyes was replaced with a desperate need to avoid the conversation.

"Well." Treiber looked down. "Okay then, let it be."

"Thank you." Chase gave the folder back to Treiber and held out his hand. Treiber didn't know whether Chase was thanking him for his help or for his silence.

"You're welcome. We're even now." Treiber shook his hand.

"I thought you valued your life more," Chase said with a grin.

"You mean you have another corpse in mind?"

"You never know," Chase answered cryptically.

"Maybe, but keep in mind that I'll never help you again. Next time, the police will be waiting for you. Are we clear?"

Chase nodded. "Okay, there won't be a next time. Don't think that I'm eager to deal with you."

"That's something we definitely have in common."

"Well then, thank you again. I have to get to the airport."

"Goodbye, Dr Chase."

"Goodbye, Dr Treiber."

* * *

_A/N: I'll get back to House and his grieving for Wilson in chapter 12, until then I'll follow Chase to Princeton, where he will meet Foreman, Cameron, Cuddy, Park and Adams. And __I'm glad some of you liked that Treiber made his small _appearance_ here :)_

_I hope you're enjoying this story so far, please let me know what you think._


	10. Chapter 10

_I'm sorry for the delay in updating, translation is not an easy thing to do, at least not for me :) My deep gratitude goes to everyone who took their time to review and of course to the editors of this story - Koralina, Sanna Black Slytherin and UchidaKarasu._

* * *

As soon as Treiber was out of sight, Chase slowly got out of the car. His body ached from sleeping in an uncomfortable position. He stretched, exercising his stiff muscles, then sat back into the car and started towards the airport.

Several times during the ride, Chase had to resist checking for Wilson in the back seat of his car. He couldn't comprehend that the body wasn't there anymore. All this madness was coming to the end and soon he would be able to put it behind him. He shook his head to clear it. He had a long ride ahead of him, with terrible timing – it was a rush hour in L.A. The last thing he needed was to get into an accident because his mind was too occupied with his thoughts.

Chase was fifteen minutes away from the airport when he took out his phone and dialled the number. He couldn't postpone it any longer.

"Hi, Foreman, it's me."

"It's about time," Foreman answered after a short pause. No matter what, he was glad to hear Chase's annoying accent again. "Because I was thinking about firing you."

"I'm surprised you haven't done that already."

Foreman stopped to think about it. Chase was right – if it had been some other doctor that had disappeared for several months he would have fired him without a second thought, but not Chase. Was he repeating Cuddy's mistakes?

"I'm sure there is a reason for you to call me. Do you want to come back?"

"I'm coming with Wilson."

There was a long silence on the other end. Chase even thought that the line had disconnected.

"Did you find them?" Foreman could not hide his surprise or a certain admiration for the perseverance of his friend.

"I'd rather not discuss it over the phone," Chase answered quickly. The time wasn't right for that kind of conversation – although Chase wasn't sure that he would _ever_ be ready to talk about what had happened, especially with Foreman. "Wilson passed away yesterday. His body will be loaded onto the 9 p.m. flight from L.A. to Newark. I haven't bought a ticket yet, but I hope to catch the same plane. I'll send you the flight number as soon as I know for sure."

Foreman answered something like "Okay", trying to comprehend the information. What his friend did best was get him into trouble, leaving Foreman no choice other than to go with the flow while trying desperately not to drown.

"Please contact Wilson's relatives. And somebody needs to make the arrangements with funeral agency to pick up the body from the airport." Chase continued to give his directions, oblivious to his boss' strange silence.

"Chase..." Foreman stopped. There was so much he wanted to say and even more to ask but this was neither the time nor the place, so he settled for asking, "Do you want me to pick you up?"

"I'll catch a cab."

"Okay, fine. Call me when you land."

"See you."

cCc

Chase slept through the entire flight. He didn't even wake up when the soft drinks were served.

When the plane landed he turned on his phone and was greeted by the message from Foreman: "I'm at the airport, don't leave without me." Chase took the long breath, knowing that Foreman wouldn't be able to resist swamping him with questions.

"Damn it, Chase! Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Foreman almost cried out at seeing his friend coming out from the arrivals area.

"Do I look worse than after the three days without sleep that you gave me after the grinder in the tunnel? When you _conveniently_ remembered that I'm not only a diagnostician but a surgeon as well?"

"Sadly, yes. But I'm still glad to see you," Foreman said with a smile, hugging his long lost friend.

They reached the parking lot in silence. Chase threw his bag to the back seat and settled in the passenger's seat.

"I'm taking you home, right?" Foreman asked before starting the engine.

Chase nodded.

Foreman knew that it wasn't the best time to interrogate Chase but he couldn't help it, he wanted to know so much. He decided, however, to start with safe questions first.

"Thank you for helping out. I mean with the cases; I know you helped the girls."

"You knew?" Chase smiled.

"How could I miss it? When I was told that Park performed the stress test on your eighty-year-old patient I knew that they couldn't have come up with that without you. After that even a simple blood test wasn't happening without me knowing about it."

"They didn't complain to me about you."

"Because I told them that I'd fire anyone who would do that."

"But you didn't interfere in the working process, because they would have told me if you did." Chase smiled again, glad to talk about anything not connected to death.

"I knew who was behind all that."

"Thank you for trusting me," Chase said sincerely.

"You're welcome, but you won't get money for it. I don't pay for on-line consulting."

Chase looked up in disbelief. They both knew that without his contribution, not all of the patients would have left the hospital through the main entrance.

"What did you expect? You disappeared for several months without a call or explanation."

"I left you a message."

"And now I'm leaving a message to you that you didn't get any salary for all this time. You'll get one only when you come back full time. And, by the way, you still owe me clinic hours."

"Fine then, I won't consult any further. It's up to you what to do with the senator," Chase said calmly.

"What? It has nothing to do with your last patient," Foreman snapped. "Adams said you found the answer and decided on the treatment."

"You know how it goes. We have a theory, we go for it, but it could be wrong and if so we start all over again. We started the treatment a week ago, so it should be apparent soon whether or not it's working. I would say today or tomorrow." Chase couldn't hide satisfied grin from his face.

"You're such a..." Foreman barely refrained from cursing. "Do you know how important this guy is for the hospital?!"

"You don't want to pay for my work and then blame me when I don't want to do it for free?" Chase didn't hide his indignation.

"Why should I pay you?! You're not showing up at work!"

"But patients are coming and leaving the hospital healthy. You get money from _them_."

Foreman considered Chase words. The Australian was right, but Foreman wasn't going to admit it and he wanted to teach him a lesson because that kind of behaviour was unacceptable if Chase was still going to work at Princeton-Plainsboro. But Foreman also knew that he could use his friend's out-of-the-box thinking probably not only with this particular patient but with many more to come, so he decided not to push too hard.

"30% of your previous salary."

"50%"

"40% and that's my final offer. Otherwise it's easier for me to just shut down the whole department."

"Deal," Chase grinned, satisfied. He knew that Foreman was probably bluffing and wasn't going to shut down his department, but 40% of what he had before without needing to show up at work and all he had to do is solve his beloved puzzles. He could work like that all his life!

"You'll get it for the past months as well." Foreman paused and looked at the Australian, to make sure that he appreciated his generous act. Chase simply nodded in response.

"As for the future, you have one month to deal with whatever you need to. If you won't return after that the deal is off and you get fired, your team as well," Foreman said, knowing that if he didn't set a time limit, Chase would never want to come back and work full time.

Chase made an unsatisfied sound and crossed his arms across his chest, scheming ways to get more freedom without losing his job.

Foreman was glad that he managed to settle the working issues and now wanted to ask the questions that bothered him the most.

"How is he?"

Chase knew exactly whom Foreman meant.

"Considering the situation, not bad. But I'm not sure what will happen now, after Wilson..." Chase didn't finish.

"Maybe I should visit him," Foreman mused.

"I'll find out if he'd want it."

"Why wouldn't he?" Foreman sounded outraged. He knew that he had never been one of House's favourites, but Chase had no right to poke his nose in it.

"How the hell do I know?! It's House!" Chase didn't want to insult Foreman, but he wasn't going to come back to House and bring their former colleague on his tail, even if Foreman was genuinely concerned about him.

"_You_ didn't ask him when you went to find him," Foreman said, trying to defend his point of view.

"Well then, find him yourself."

"When did you become so boring?" Foreman muttered, not knowing what else to say.

"Look who's talking!" Chase snorted.

"It was me who told you that he was alive! "

"I didn't ask you!"

Foreman didn't miss the barely noticeable irritation in Chase's voice as if he regretted that Foreman had told him that day. It stopped him from arguing further and made him have a closer look into the tired and haggard face of his friend.

"I can see it wasn't easy for you."

Instead of answering, Chase nodded. He had no one to blame except himself. No one had forced him but he would do it again, even knowing how hard it would be.

"Are you going back?"

"I promised I would."

"But you can't be there for him forever!"

"I'll just help him to settle down and get back."

"_Help House to settle down_?! Are you kidding me?!"

Chase knew Foreman was right. Even if he was able to somehow give House the will to live after Wilson's death, it would tie Chase up to old diagnostician in the process, thus making him House's new best friend. He didn't want to stay in House's shadow forever, but he couldn't leave him either. That was why he was postponing the decision for as long as he could. Wilson was right – all of them were drug addicts and House was their drug.

"Foreman, I wasn't thinking that far ahead. Let's just get through the funeral, and then we'll see."

They arrived at Princeton. Nothing had changed – it hadn't been that long ago – but for Chase it felt like an eternity since he had been in the city. Ten minutes later, Foreman was parking at Chase's apartment building.

"I called Cameron. She's coming to funeral. I hope you don't mind," Foreman said cautiously while getting out of the car.

Chase shook his head and opened the back door to get his bag. He looked up at the windows of his apartment – he hadn't been at home for almost four months.

"Do you need me to come in?"

"No thank you. I'm sure you have other things to do. Do you know what time the funeral is and where?"

"Not yet. I'll let you know."

"Okay, thanks for picking me up."

"You're welcome."

* * *

_A/N: I hope you're still reading and enjoying, please let me know what you think :)_


	11. Chapter 11

_Usually I don't write character bashing stuff, but it happened in this chapter, and I must say - not without a little help from my editor Koralina :)_

_So I need to apologize to all Cuddy fans, but Chase had to loose it at some point, he couldn't stay so calm and stoic all the time, and Cuddy happened to be the one on the receiving end of his fury._

_As always, my true gratitude to my editors for the great job they did with this chapter! Koralina, Sanna Black Slytherin and UchidaKarasu - thank you very much!_

* * *

Cameron was standing next to Chase, both of them dressed in black. It had been less than a year and yet again she had to come back for such a tragic occasion.

"We're only seeing each other at funerals," she said sadly. "Better change that habit."

"Yeah, next time we should meet at Foreman's wedding," Chase retorted without missing a beat.

"Foreman's getting married?!" Cameron was genuinely surprised.

Chase rolled his eyes. "That was a sarcasm, darling."

"Then maybe at your wedding?" she asked cautiously, surprised at the strange feeling in her heart – as if she was afraid of his answer, that he may have found or would find his better half which Cameron had never been. Cameron had never loved Chase as he had deserved to be loved but she had been frightened by how attracted to him she had felt, taking the first opportunity to run away. After everything she had done, she had no right to ask Chase to stay faithful to her, even if it hurt her to see him with somebody else. At times she still missed him so much.

Chase just shook his head. Cameron released the breath she had been unconsciously holding, hoping that Chase would not notice her strange behaviour. Their relationship was always complicated. When she had left him, she had never thought that she would've been able to talk to him again, let alone stay friends with him. But it was possible thanks to that conversation they had had in the hospital during lockdown. She remembered everything as if it had happened yesterday. She hadn't wanted to talk, discuss anything or analyse what had happened between them. It had all reminded her of House and his endless attempts to get to the bottom of everything, ignoring the pain it caused.

Eventually though, she had found that she'd needed that conversation even more than Chase had. It was like a bullet that needed to be pulled out, otherwise there was no recovery. Chase had helped heal her wounds, comforted her as he always had, but Cameron had known the very moment when she had told Chase she had never loved him, when he had signed the divorce papers, that she had lost him forever. Maybe if they had been lucky enough to meet somewhere else, they would still be together.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Cuddy's approach. Cameron looked up at Chase. She knew from Foreman about what had happened between House and Cuddy but she was still very surprised that the ex-dean hadn't even attended his funeral. She was afraid to imagine what Chase was thinking about that mess. Cameron politely greeted her ex-boss, hoping that Cuddy would just say hello and leave them alone. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. After she greeted Cameron, Cuddy turned to Chase, who stood beside Cameron with an unreadable expression on his face and clearly no desire to start any conversation.

"Hello Chase. I wanted to thank you. You did what all of us should have done," Cuddy said and looked up at Chase.

"I did what I thought would be best for my friend, not because I was looking for any kind of acknowledgement," Chase replied calmly, but Cameron knew him too well and could see the fury that was raging within him. "But I doubt that you know how to take care of people without waiting for something in return."

"What does that mean?! You think I'm incapable of taking care of people?!" In mere seconds Cuddy's voice turned from polite to threatening. "Did you forget how many times I saved your sorry asses from trouble?!"

"Don't worry! I didn't! But do you know what else I didn't forget? How you had left someone who was ready to give up everything for you!"

"Don't mention his name!" Cuddy replied coldly.

"Why not? Since you decided to bring up House, or rather somebody whose name you don't even want to mention, let's talk." Chase was looking at her with cruel eyes. "Where do you want to start? When you put him behind bars? What about the fact that, if it weren't for you, he would have been here and would have been able to say goodbye to his one and _only_ friend!"

Even through the make-up on Cuddy's face, Cameron could see that the older woman's cheeks were burning red. Cuddy was obviously on verge of crying, but nothing could stop Chase now. Apparently Wilson's death had affected him much more than he had let anybody see, when he was quietly standing at the casket and looking indifferently at the lifeless body. It wouldn't have been the first time Cameron had mistaken his desperate need to avoid pain for callousness. She reproached herself for not thinking sooner about what he had been through during those last days with Wilson. She knew how hard it was to take care for a dying man.

"I didn't kill him!" Cuddy was almost hysterical now, but Chase didn't seem to care. Now all the accumulated grief and anger at his own inability to change anything was pouring over, and all that rage was being directed at Cuddy.

"What you did was much worse! You used him as an amusing toy and then threw him out with the morning garbage when you realized that you couldn't handle him." Chase practically spat out the last sentence.

Perhaps if Cuddy hadn't approach them he would've continued to ignore her, but now it was too late for that. Usually people only saw the calm and at times indifferent side of Chase. It wasn't easy to make him lose control but when it happened, it revealed a completely different side of him. Most people simply weren't ready for that kind of drastic change, just like Cuddy, who was now standing and gaping like a fish, unable to find the right words. A few steps away from them, Cameron noticed that Foreman had turned towards them. Evidently they were talking much louder than they should. She caught Foreman's eye, silently urging him to help her stop the rapidly escalating scandal.

"What was I supposed to do?! He crossed the line!" Cuddy sounded like she was pleading for understanding.

"You were encouraging him to do it over and over again! It was your way of flirting with him! What he did..." Chase was visibly furious and Cameron understood, because Cuddy thought that she was right and didn't realise how much damage she had caused. "He wanted to end that relationship once and for all, but that was against your plans. You never wanted to let him go, because if something happened to one of your boyfriends, you could still go back to House, isn't that right?"

Cuddy broke and slapped Chase, causing Cameron to flinch and Foreman to dart towards them. Chase, however, only sneered at the angry woman with pity. They both knew that at that moment she had just confirmed that he was right. There was no point in arguing further. Cuddy could continue to live, deceiving herself and believing that she was right, or she could realise the truth and be tormented by guilt forever. Whatever choice she made, it wasn't anyone's problem but her own.

Without saying anything, he turned and walked away from Cuddy, Cameron following him. The last thing she heard was Cuddy saying to Foreman, "When did he grow a backbone? They are so much alike. Cameron was right when she left him, and you should do the same."

Cameron froze. Cuddy had no right to judge her about what had happened between her and Chase. She spun around and was on her way back to tell Cuddy what was on her mind when Chase grabbed her hand. She looked up at him with surprise. He didn't say anything, just studied her as if deciding something for himself, and then dragged her towards the exit. She didn't know what he was thinking. Did he think she was playing with him, reserving him as some backup plan in case her current marriage blew up?

"No you don't," he said when they were outside and he stopped abruptly.

"What do you mean, 'I don't'?" Cameron stared at him – had she uttered the last words out loud?

"You're thinking about her words and my reaction. The fact that you were ready to go back and stand up for me is enough. And I don't think you are like her."

She looked up at him with surprise and gratitude. When had he become so observant and understanding? Or had he always been like that and she hadn't been able to see through his indifferent façade?

"I need to go," Chase said, changing the subject abruptly. His eyes became cold and distant, as if the understanding between them just a moment ago had never happened.

"Where?" she asked suddenly, though he didn't need to explain himself to her about where he was going.

'To House,' Chase thought to himself and looked at his ex-wife. There were times when he couldn't think of anything except her, so he tried so hard not to think about her at all because it hurt so much. And now he was looking at her and didn't feel anything. He could read her like an open book and no emotions or feelings could get in the way.

"I need to get some stuff from the office and check on our patient. The diagnosis wasn't confirmed yet, so I could be wrong."

Cameron nodded her head, agreeing that Chase had to go, but then surprising even herself she asked, "Can I come with you?"

Chase looked at her, bewildered. He had noticed the strange looks she was giving him before, when she thought that he wasn't looking, but he never thought she would get that far. Of course they used to have feelings for each other, and on his side they were much stronger, but now she had a husband and a child. And he... he had definitely outgrown sex in the janitor closet with his ex-wife.

"My plane is late in the evening. I've checked out from the hotel and I've met everyone I wanted to," she explained, pleading him to take her with him.

Chase shrugged. If she wanted to follow him until her flight to Chicago, it was up to her.

"Okay, let's meet at the parking lot; you don't have your pass any more, do you?

Cameron shook her head. She was strangely disappointed that he didn't offer to give her a lift. She got into the rental car, the one she had had to get because he hadn't picked her up from the airport. When she had arrived for House's funeral, Chase had met her at the airport and then had taken her back there once the funeral had ended. Maybe he was concerned about something? For example his new patient, she thought to herself. But in her mind, she was still avoiding the most important question: why did she want so much to spend time with him when he definitely didn't want to spend time with her?

cCc

From the entrance to the hospital and all the way to his office Chase had to stop every now and then to greet colleagues and answer questions like, where he had been, how was he doing, and so on. At that moment he wished he had a reputation similar to House's so that nobody would even think about bothering him without reason. When he eventually reached his office he flew inside with relief. As far as he remembered, Cameron stopped somewhere on the way to talk with a friend. He sat at his desk and started to look for the things he intended to take with him, throwing them into the open bag on the floor.

Adams was sitting at the table in the conference room and she watched her boss with surprise. She hadn't seen him in months and definitely hadn't expected to see him at the hospital on the day of Wilson's funeral.

"Good afternoon," she said politely while opening the adjoining door.

"How is the patient?" Chase went straight to business.

"The treatment is working."

Chase nodded satisfied. At least one problem solved.

"Leaving again?" Adams asked with slight annoyance.

"And it should concern you because?" He stopped as if letting her finish for him.

"You know, I've had enough. I don't want to work for an avatar in my e-mail."

"Then quit." Chase had nothing to add. If she didn't want to work like that, he couldn't help her. At the moment, being with House was much more important to him.

Adams didn't like this new Chase. After House's funeral, it was as if a mask had slipped from his face, leaving only a cynical and lonely man who was devoting all his time to solving cases. Or maybe the reverse was true – he had put on a mask to hide his pain. She wanted to believe the latter and was trying to help him, but he didn't appreciate her efforts and she found it so irritating.

At that moment, Park entered the office. She couldn't miss the redness of Adams' cheeks, be it from anger or something else. It was obvious that Park came in the middle of yet another dispute. After Chase became the new head of diagnostic department, Adams began to defend her point of view much more zealously, compared to when he had been a fellow team member. But Park could see that as much as it was the desire to stand up for her diagnosis, it was also a covert flirtation. She wanted to ask Adams about it, but Park suspected that Adams would never admit it to either Park or even herself.

"Someone is waiting for you there." Park pointed at Cameron, who was standing outside and carefully examining the lettering on the glass door.

"I know." Chase nodded to Cameron, inviting her to come in.

The girls, as if in unison, looked Cameron up disapprovingly. They both remembered her as somebody who had been sitting next to Chase at House's funeral, but they didn't know more than that.

"Is she going to be a new team member?" Park asked. Then without any hint of embarrassment, she added, "She seems too old for that."

Cameron's eyes widened at such straightforwardness, but Chase looked at Park and smiled. Her spontaneity and directness were such a pleasant contrast to Adams' throughout secretiveness.

"And do you think that I need to get your approval first?"

"I think that the position should be filled by a man, not a woman," Adams intervened into the conversation.

"You see, Cameron? My girls are not feminists, and they recognize our superiority." Chase was having fun with this situation.

"It's not about your superiority," Adams said, feeling like she needed to explain herself, "but sometimes we need someone with physical strength."

She could never forget that day when Chase had saved her from a scalpel.

At that moment Park made a faint gasp, realising who the woman was. She got Adams' attention by pulling her sleeve and motioning towards Cameron, trying to explain it without speaking.

"What?" Adams whispered.

Park continued to nod toward Cameron, and then eventually stuck out her hand and pointed at the ring finger. At last, Adams understood what her colleague meant and proceeded to study the unknown woman more carefully.

In the meantime Chase had his back on them, looking through the bookshelves. He took out several books to put it into his bag.

Cameron was examining the surroundings. It all seemed surreal to her: it was House's office, House's team, but there was no House; his place was occupied by Chase. Now as never before had Chase become House's replica, just as she had accused him of before when she had said that House poisoned him, but now she realised that she never actually believed it. In truth, she never thought that Chase would go this far, that he would become the head of diagnostic department, that he would be the only one of them who continued House's work.

"Okay girls." Chase looked around one last time. "Don't get bored, daddy will be back soon."

He abruptly took the ball from the table, threw it into the bag, then closed it and hung it on his shoulder. "Let's go, Cameron."

Cameron nodded goodbye to the girls and followed him out.

"So she's his ex?" Adams asked no one in particular when the door closed behind her boss.

"And you thought she should have been uglier?" Park answered sarcastically.

* * *

_So, please tell me, what you think about this chapter. Was I too tough with Cuddy?_

_And would you like to see more Adams and Park in the future chapters? I'm writing chapter 21 right now and I have an option to add them or skip._

_But don't worry the story in the nearest future will be focused only on House and Chase :)_


	12. Chapter 12

_Koralina, __StormyMonday and __UchidaKarasu __\- t__hank you very much for the great editing you're doing for this story!_

* * *

Complete silence followed the loud bang of the closed door. House sat in the chair next to Wilson's now empty bed. He didn't stir, as if afraid that the slightest movement would destroy everything around him, because losing Wilson was like losing his core, his soul. Nothing made sense to him any more.

"Now what?" House asked himself that very question every time his routine took an unexpected turn, his mind going over many possible options for the future. But was he listening to it? Hardly, just like he never listened to the advice of his friend. If he had done so, things might have turned out differently. Had he listened to Wilson's reasoning that first night with Cuddy – the real one, not the one House had imagined – he would have never engaged in a relationship that was doomed to fail from the start. He would never have gone to prison, never wasted his time when he could have spent it with someone who truly understood him, someone who accepted him the way he was and who never left him. 'Never until now,' House corrected himself bitterly.

He had never thought that fate would be so cruel. He had been certain that he would leave this world before Wilson, and wouldn't be in need when he lost his footing, his conscience, his friend. He couldn't imagine himself without Wilson. House stood up and, as if mesmerised, came closer to the bed which was still warm from Wilson's body. He stood there staring, then with all his strength hit the nearest wall with his fist again and again, hoping that the pain in his hand would dull the emotional pain of losing his friend, but even now his body failed him. House hung his head and headed to the bathroom where he washed his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He never felt so empty, useless and drained. There was no puzzle to solve, no enemy to fight and hate, no tears to mourn, and no Wilson. He was there no more.

House went to the hall and stopped, not knowing what to do with himself. His normal routine was to cook for the three and take care for Wilson, but there was no one to take care of, and no one to cook for. Chase had left and taken Wilson with him, and House had stayed.

He was alone. Again.

He went to the bedroom, the only place that had no memory of his friend. Vicodin pills temptingly rattled in his pocket. He took out the bottle, shook out two pills, then added two more, swallowing them dry. That was exactly what he needed, to forget about everything.

cCc

House could tell when night turned into day, and then into night again by the changing light outside of his window – when the faint light of the street lamp was replaced by the bright sunlight and then back. Of course, that was only when or if he was coherent enough and wasn't too stoned from the Vicodin. He didn't want to know how much time had passed, but his sharp mind wasn't giving him any choice, telling him that he had been lying there with no desire to get up for about three days. Any longer and he would have been dead from dehydration. But maybe it was the best way out for him – to just lie there doing nothing and waiting for life, or rather physiology, to make that choice for him.

_'You're afraid of this decision, and you are trying to argue until fate takes it out of your hands. You're taking the cowardly way out. And worse... you're too cowardly to even admit you're taking the cowardly way out.'_

Cameron's words rung in his head. Before, they had brought him back to life and given him the precious time to spend with his best friend, have fun, and travel throughout the country, even though it had ended in so much pain.

As the first rays of sunlight replaced the darkness of the night, House got up from the bed. He didn't want to live, but he wasn't ready to die right away either. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a bite to eat, then went into the entrance hall, put his jacket on, and grabbed his helmet. He was starting to feel claustrophobic and needed to get out of the small apartment. House toyed with the smooth, black, round object in his hands, weighing his options. He froze for a moment, then put the helmet back in its place, grabbed the keys from the Wilson's bike and went out. He knew exactly what he had to do.

cCc

House rode through the empty streets of the still sleeping town. The early morning was fresh, clear and quiet. He and Wilson used to love riding at the break of dawn, and now he was riding alone. It was surprising that this loneliness and inability to share that joy with his friend was the last straw that forced him to acknowledge Wilson's death. It didn't mean he had accepted it, no way. He envied people who believed in an afterlife, that they would meet their passed relatives and friends there. He had been a doctor for far too long, convinced that every human being was nothing more than flesh and bone; that the light so many believed in and reached out to was nothing more than the hallucination of an oxygen-deprived brain. Wilson wasn't in a better place. He simply didn't exist anymore, period.

House continued on the highway along the shore. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew exactly what kind of place he needed. The road climbed upward, the high cliffs coming into view. He turned off the road, intent on climbing one of them.

He got off the bike, came closer to the edge of the cliff and took a long, deep breath of the fresh air coming from the ocean. He could clearly hear, but couldn't see the huge waves breaking, one after another at the bottom of the cliff. He could jump right then and there and stop his suffering. Many people would have understood his choice, but was he like everybody else? Was he going to choose the easiest way out after so many years of struggling?

House went back to the bike, looking it over as if it were a beautiful woman, before pushing it to the edge. Its master was dead and it should follow the same fate. Eventually, the front wheel was on the very edge of the cliff. One slight move and everything would be over. House stopped. He couldn't be at his friend's funeral, but he could easily imagine all the people dressed in black with sorrowful faces, pretending that they were thinking about the deceased person and not about what they were going to have for dinner. His own funeral was a pretty good example of that. But the fact that he wasn't one of the mournfully struggling didn't mean that he couldn't honour Wilson with one last farewell, even if he was doing it here on the edge of the cliff.

That bike was the only thing left of his friend. It represented a side of Wilson that others barely knew. House remembered how his friend loved to celebrate his victories in their games. He considered Wilson's victory dance quite ridiculous, but would have given anything to see it again. He remembered how they sneaked chickens into the hospital, how used to prank each other, how Wilson mock-proposed to him.

"It's been fun," House said, as if Wilson was standing next to him, and then pushed the bike over the edge.

He barely managed to let go and avoid being dragged along with it. The eerie screeching of twisting metal on jagged rocks and the splash that he could barely hear over the sound of the waves,was a fitting farewell to his one and only friend.

House stood there as tears ran down his cheeks. He hadn't cried in such a long time that at first he didn't realize why the wind felt so cold on his face. It was the end of his old life and once again he had to find the answer to the question "Now what?". Wilson wasn't there anymore to tell him what an idiot he was.

cCc

House listened as someone inserted the key into the lock and turned it. Without thinking, he assumed Wilson had come to keep him from drinking himself to death. He was about to shout out to him that he was fine, when he remembered that Wilson was gone. But before he could think of who it could be, Chase appeared in the doorway.

Chase came back, and that was something House had never expected. He didn't know why he thought the Australian would give up on him. Maybe because everyone did at some point in his life, so why was Chase an exception? They looked at each other with a quiet understanding.

For House, it was so easy with Chase that sometimes it was frightening. Wilson had been his conscience, saving House from himself whenever possible, and lecturing him afterwards. Chase was the opposite. He kept his mouth shut, but was at House's side when he was needed. Just like now, when he was looking House over to be sure that he hadn't caused any harm to himself. Apparently satisfied, Chase retreated to the kitchen.

They were so much alike, two people acting accordingly to their codes of honour. 'We could make a great but dangerous team', House thought to himself. For first time since he had returned from the cliff, life didn't seem so hopeless.

House got up and groaned. Unaccustomed to the current activities, his muscles ached and his leg felt like it was on fire. He clutched it, barely able to keep from crying out in pain. When the pain had finally subsided somewhat, he found enough strength to retrieve his Vicodin bottle and swallow two pills. He stayed like that for several minutes and then went to the kitchen.

Chase had not only made fresh coffee, but had also prepared breakfast. Without asking, he put the plate with scrambled eggs and the fresh cup of coffee in front of House.

House sat at the table and could see that his pain hadn't gone unnoticed by the young diagnostician, but as always Chase hadn't said anything.

"You went out for a hell of a walk, judging by your dirty sneakers. That's good," Chase said and began eating.

"What's good about that?"

"You went out voluntarily."

"I buried Wilson's bike."

"Ah." Chase nodded with understanding.

"And you obviously buried Wilson."

Chase nodded again.

"How'd it go?"

"As funerals usually do."

House hadn't thought much about food while he was away, only grabbing something along the way out of necessity, but now sitting across Chase, who simply was having a breakfast, he understood how he missed it – just sitting quietly and eating, knowing that he wasn't alone anymore.

"I brought you something," Chase said after washing and putting away their plates.

House looked at him with the question in his eyes.

"Just a minute."

Chase brought his bag from the hall, taking out a small ball and tossing it to House. Good reflexes did not betray the old diagnostician and he caught the familiar object easily. He rolled it in his hands as if seeing it for the first time.

"Never thought you'd give it back," House muttered, looking at the ball. It had been House's to begin with, but he kept it in his office for the young Australian.

"There's more; thought you'd like to have this too." Chase moved the bag closer to House and left the kitchen.

House carefully peeked inside. He felt uneasy at how well Chase knew him. As if he was a small child, he began taking out one object after another, laying them out on the table. From the outsider's point of view, it was a strange array of useless things, but for him every object held a memory, just like this ball kept the image of Chase.


	13. Chapter 13

_Many thanks to Koralina, StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu __for editing this story and making it much better!_

* * *

Three weeks had passed, and Chase was starting to doubt that it was in his power to actually change anything. After all, what made him think that he could help House when he hadn't been able to help his mother after his father left?

Now, seeing House's anguish, part of him regretted what he had done. He knew better than anyone how it was to hold on to one last ray of hope. But another part of him – the rational part – knew that House was doomed to feel the loss and pain anyway, but he could help ease Wilson's suffering. It was simple: something was better than nothing.

However, knowing he had made the right decision didn't help with the guilt, so just like three years ago he did the only thing he could, suppressing his feelings into the farthest corner of his mind and busying himself with his daily routine. Because right now there was much more at stake. There was little chance that House world be able to go back to business as usual without Chase. He had shown no signs of his usual self-destructive behaviour. Far from it, in fact. He had been eating three meals a day, never tried to exceed his daily dose of Vicodin and even resumed his daily ritual of watching General Hospital. But if Chase had ever had any doubts about existence of purgatory, he now had his answer, because House was right there, in the middle between life and death.

Watching his ex-boss go through this routine day in and day out was starting to make him regret that he lacked Cameron's obsessive caring or Foreman's assertiveness. They wouldn't have just sat by and watched – they would have told House everything that was on their minds and tried to bring him back into the real world. But Chase understood House too well to judge his behaviour. That was why, day after day, he thought about how to pull his old friend and teacher out off his stupor and give him a taste of life.

Chase continued to remember how he had taken care of his mother, believing that enough control and organization would help her – leaving a fresh outfit out and breakfast simmering on the stove only to return home from a long school day to find her still in her robe with an open bottle in her hand. Compared to her, House was much more promising case, but he still couldn't break through the wall of indifference and apathy.

More and more often he found himself watching House, knowing that House felt it, but like everything else, didn't pay much attention. The old House would have never tolerated somebody staring at him; his old self would have said something that would've permanently discouraged Chase from merely glancing in his direction. Chase missed the older man's sharp remarks. Sometimes he even thought about angering House to force him to care enough to yell at him, kick him out, anything that would elicit some kind of reaction. But instead, House would just look at him, the pain and sorrow in his eyes being enough to make Chase stop. House needed him, and that gave Chase enough strength to continue to care, support and wait.

cCc

House's dreams were playing cruel games with him. They were coming out of nowhere like a lightning strike from the clear blue sky, and were so vivid he couldn't tell the difference between them and reality until he found himself standing next to Wilson's empty bed. That was the one and only detail his dreams had in common – he would end up at his friend's bed, at first finding a happy and joyful man whose face would begin slowly contorting into a sickly, grey death mask.

He would have given anything for his subconscious to stop playing games with him. He would gladly choose to never see Wilson again, and not have to go through that devastating loss over and over. Even his loyal Vicodin was bringing back those memories instead of saving him from them. He didn't even think about using something stronger, being afraid of what kind of dreams it would bring. It was better to live in pain and without sleep. And he did, doing everything he should without thinking about the meaning. But sometimes the stares of the young man who was currently living with him brought him back to reality. Maybe it seemed to Chase that his presence didn't make any difference, but to House it did. He wasn't ready to communicate, wasn't ready to forget his friend, but he _was_ afraid to think about how he would feelif left alone with his thoughts and nightmares. He hoped Chase knew that he appreciated his presence, and wasn't staying with him out of obligation.

It was impossible to help someone who wasn't seeking help. Chase still didn't want to learn that lesson. And there House was looking into the eyes of his best disciple, hoping that, without any words, Chase would understand how grateful he was for what the Australian was doing for him.

House regretted every single word he said to him that very day when Wilson's condition worsened. He vented all his anger and despair on him, but Chase accepted it and stayed with him, as he always did. Only once before had he asked for Chase's forgiveness. He almost lost him that day. It was ironic, but House apologized only when he was afraid that people would leave him and were unable to tolerate his behaviour.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you that day."

Chase looked at him, surprised. They had hardly talked about anything except their routine. There was nothing House should have had been sorry for.

"About what I said about your mother and father. It wasn't your fault and ..."

House fell silent. He apologized for his words, and the pain they had caused, but he couldn't lie and tell Chase that his parents hadn't screwed him over. As much as he'd tried, he hadn't been able to undo the damage Chase's parents had done to their son. But whatever Chase's reasons were for searching for the two friends, House was grateful he had.

Chase smirked. Not everyone had a chance to see House speechless, but he wasn't going to make him finish what he wanted to say. It was enough that House tried to apologize and thank him. And the rest? He left behind their argument a long time ago, and besides, there was too much truth in House's words. As always.

"I know," Chase said, "You weren't yourself that day so I won't hold it against you."

"Well you should have," House muttered. His eyes became dull as his desire to make things right had disappeared, replaced by his usual indifference.

Chase hung his head. He just hadn't been able to get through to House recently. This time, though, he was even glad about that. It was unbearable for Chase to hear House apologize when _he_ was the one who should have been asking for _House's_ forgiveness.

House sat looking out the window wondering why Chase accepted his apology so easily. Was it because House disappointed him so much that not feeling anything was much easier? He knew that Chase had used this kind of defence mechanism before, but in that case he would have just left, just like he had run away from his father many years ago.

Then there were only two options left: Chase was objective enough and understood that House was right, therefore there was no need for apology, but even House himself couldn't come up with that level of objectivity, especially when it concerned him. For some reason, though, Chase wanted to end that conversation as soon as possible. The last option made House look up at his young friend.

Despite his emotional state over the past few days, House hadn't forgotten how to read body language. Chase's pose screamed of suppressed emotions and guilt. He could understand the emotional part, but the guilt was a mystery to him. What did Chase have to feel guilty for? What was he hiding from House?

House had worked with Chase long enough to know that a direct question would never get him an honest answer. House became lost in his thoughts again. This time they were not about the friend he had lost, but about the one who was still near him, safe and sound. The latter was used to dealing with his own problems, which meant that whatever was bothering him had happened recently. The only thing that came to House's mind was Wilson's death.

He started going over the past few days in his mind when a light bulb went off in his head. How could he have forgotten? Wilson had asked him to call for Chase, and they had talked about something that had obviously upset the Australian very much. That day House didn't prod Chase about it, deciding that a conversation about death would bring too many unpleasant memories for the young man. But thinking back, he couldn't deny that he'd found Wilson's request quite strange. Maybe he just asked him to take care of House after his death. It could explain why Chase was still here with him, but why was he feeling guilty? The answer was so close, but still out of his grasp.

House got up and went to the bedroom. He took out the small box of Wilson's belongings from the top shelf in the closet. He hadn't touched it since the day Chase had come back and started clearing out the apartment, sending back all the medical equipment that he had rented and having someone come by to take away the chemotherapy IVs and other hazardous materials to be disposed of properly.

But the box of Wilson's belongings remained.

House opened it carefully. A painfully familiar smell almost made him change his mind, but solving the puzzle was his priority. He overcame his feelings and started to take out the items one by one, laying them out on the bed: t-shirts, jeans, and Wilson's favourite pyjamas. His last days, that was exactly how House remembered him – in pyjamas. He took it and brought it to his face, as if trying to absorb all the feelings and scent that the garment still held. He almost put it aside and went to look for other items, when a blue pen mark on the inside of the sleeve caught his attention. He carefully turned it inside-out to get a better look. What he saw made him gasp. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, hoping that it was just a hallucination, but the figures were still there, albeit slightly paled from the laundry – 328, there was no mistake.

There was only one explanation for it, but it didn't mean he could accept it. There were only two men he allowed himself to become close to, and they had both betrayed him. House clenched his fists in rage, not caring about the fabric tearing in his hands.

* * *

_You must have guessed what's about to come. And if you're still enjoying the story please leave a review, thank you!_


	14. Chapter 14

_This chapter was written together with the beginning of the story, when the time came for it to be edited, Koralina convinced me to write another one before it, but that additional chapter didn't come easy, there were several different variations and as a result I had to wait a long time until Koralina edited this one, but I was very pleased with what she had done!_

_And as always my deep gratitude goes to my English editors - StormyMonday and UchidaKarasu, without whom you wouldn't been able to read this :)_

* * *

Chase returned from grocery shopping, put the bags on the kitchen counter, and then peeked into the living room. It didn't take long for him to see that House was in fury. He was stomping from one corner to another as if he was a caged animal, clutching a striped piece of fabric in his hands. Chase barely recognised the cloth that used to be Wilson's pyjamas. He didn't have time to wonder what had caused House to become so angry, as the old diagnostician made several large strides in his direction and hit Chase in the face with all his force.

Stunned, Chase fell backwards to the floor and rubbed his face with his hand. He looked up, bewildered, at House who was looming threateningly above him. There was only rage in his eyes, not the remorse or confusion that had been there many years ago, when they had been in the similar situation.

"When were you going to tell me?!" House yelled. "Fucking bastard! Damn the day I hired you!"

"House, what are you talking about?" Chase asked perplexedly, looking up from his position on the floor. Deep down he knew exactly what it was all about.

"Don't play dumb! It's too late, I know everything!"

House angrily tossed the pyjamas at him. Chase carefully took the striped piece of fabric into his hands, but didn't say anything.

"Okay then, I'll spell it out for you!" He grabbed the pyjamas from Chase's hands and shoved the sleeve into his face so he could see the numbers. "So you're still going to say that you know nothing?!"

Chase looked silently at those fateful numbers. He knew that Wilson was afraid he'd forget, which was why he wrote them down. Chase had given him the pen himself. But he never thought what would happen if House found out. At the time he had only been thinking about Wilson and what he had asked for.

"So that's how you repay me for everything I did for you?!" House was angrily waving his arms around, and Chase could only thank fate that his cane remained in the other corner of the room, because he had no doubt that House would have beaten up the person who took his friend's life before the time came.

"Because he had asked me," Chase said, looking straight ahead and avoiding House's gaze. He knew that it was a losing argument, because he knew everything that House was going to say.

"So what if he asked you?! He was ill! He was hallucinating!"

"I'm sorry," Chase said, barely above whisper. There was nothing more he could say. House was right about everything, and Chase wasn't.

Chase looked up at his ex-boss. Never before he had seen so much hate in his eyes. It wasn't long ago that he'd wanted to make House loose it, to see anything except apathy on his face, but now that he'd succeeded, he was afraid that he wasn't ready to be on the receiving end of House's fury.

"_I'm sorry?!_ You think you can say that and everything will just go back to normal?! You killed my best friend!" House hissed, and Chase flinched as if from a slap.

"I thought you would extend his life, not take what little he had left! Did you get tired of taking care of him?! You just wanted to get rid of him, didn't you?! Why the hell did you find us?! Who asked you?! Get the hell out and make sure I never see you again!" With those words, House turned around and holding his damaged leg with one hand slowly limped back to his armchair.

Chase silently watched the man he used to consider his teacher. He had wanted to help, but eventually he had just caused more pain. Cameron was right – he had been ruined, with no way back. Maybe he had always been like this. It couldn't be a coincidence that everyone he cared about turned their backs on him, even House. He got up slowly, looked one last time towards House and went to the exit.

"You're worse than me, you know. You're a murderer."

It was the last thing Chase heard as he closed the door behind himself.

cCc

Later, Chase ended up being the only one at the bar at last call. He knew that pretty soon he would be asked to leave, but before that, he had a right to enjoy his whisky. He emptied the glass in one gulp and gestured the bartender for another round.

"You've had enough, buddy."

Chase took out some money and threw it on the counter. The bartender just shrugged and filled his glass one more time.

_'That's better,' _Chase thought to himself.

He had gone to get wasted and forget about everything, but alcohol wasn't helping him at all. He couldn't understand his mother. Drinking wasn't solving anything – it just made things more blurred.

House hated him. How the hell had he ended up like this? He knew how. He killed. Again. It didn't matter that he was begged to do it, he had no right to take a human life. House was right, Chase had surpassed him, becoming a much bigger monster than his own teacher. He was a murderer. Chase brought the glass to his lips one more time.

The bartender carefully touched his shoulder to get his attention and gestured to the door. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

Chase nodded and started to get down from the stool slowly. His head was spinning and he barely managed to stop himself from falling. The bartender steadied him and helped him to the door.

"Do you want me to call you a taxi?" He asked. Chase hadn't given the impression of a hard drinker, but rather just a miserable man battered by life.

Chase shook his head. He'd gotten there by foot and didn't have a place to go anyway.

"L-ving close," he mumbled.

"Alright then, have a good one."

He went down the street and after he crossed the pedestrian crossing, stopped and looked around. He spotted a small park with a couple of benches which looked as comfortable of a place as any. He sat down heavily on one of them. It didn't seem as comfortable as he thought it would, but he had no strength or desire to get up. He closed his jacket tightly around himself and curled up on his side. It wasn't very cold, but still he felt chills run down his spine.

cCc

Chase woke up feeling someone's hands rummaging through his pockets.

"Come on, hurry up!" someone whispered.

"Don't worry, he's out anyway."

"You have the wallet, fuck the phone!"

One of the guys was trying to turn Chase over so he could get access to his mobile phone.

Chase understood what was happening. It had definitely been a stupid idea to sleep on a street bench. It had already cost him his wallet, but he didn't want to give them his phone. He pushed the thief's hand away and started to sit up. "You want this, eh?"

They stepped back for a second to see what their drunk victim was going to do. Usually people would just turn to the other side and resume sleeping. But this one took out his phone from the pocket and offered it to them. The kids happily nodded their heads, glad that they were so lucky that the guy was so blitzed out of his mind he would just give it to them.

"Okay, I hope you like puzzles," Chase said with a big laugh and slammed his phone on the pavement with all his force.

"You – fucking bastard!" cried one of the kids and launched himself at Chase.

Chase was still laughing, oblivious to the blows coming down on him from different directions.

Either the guys were too weak or the alcohol was still running through his system, but Chase almost did not feel any pain. Only his head was spinning from the hands moving around him. Eventually, he lost his balance and fell, bumping his head hard on the concrete curb.

"Tom, come on, let's go," cried one of the guys, dragging his friend away. Before escaping Tom kicked the man lying on the ground several more times.

The space around him was still spinning, and something thick and warm was trickling down his temple. Most likely, he had a slight concussion and needed to see a doctor, but Chase did not get up, continuing to lie and stare at the sky above him.

Only as the morning dawned was he sober enough to get up and think about his situation. He was in unfamiliar city, with no money, documents or a phone. He couldn't go to the police or hospital, because he would need to contact Foreman, and that would lead to House's whereabouts. And frankly, he was in no mood for his boss's lectures.

Chase wandered through the city until late in the evening, but the thirst, hunger, and relentless headache forced him to do something he had hoped to never do again.


	15. Chapter 15

_Many thanks to the editors of this chapter __StormyMonday, Le Me and Koralina._

* * *

Chase passed by the apartment for a second time. He was cold, his head was killing him and his back hurt. But every time he neared the entrance, all he could see was House's hateful expression, and he simply couldn't gather enough courage to ring the doorbell. He wan't even sure that House would open the door, let alone allow him in.

Chase never thought that it would be so painful to lose House's good graces. It wasn't the first time their roads had parted, but never before had he felt so lonely and lost. He had driven Cameron away, choosing House instead. Foreman was never really his friend, and consequently, their relationship was mostly based on his ability to solve puzzles. Taub was too busy with his family or rather both of them, Thirteen was dying, and the girls never truly knew him. House was the only one that did.

Turning the corner once again, Chase saw his bike parked near the entrance. It was the key to his freedom; to getting as far away from his problems as possible so he could stop thinking about what he had become, and what to do about it. He would have gladly driven away right then, if not for his keys still being inside the apartment. Chase gathered all his courage and went inside the building. He could clearly imagine what he would have to listen to if House let him in and permitted him take what was left of his belongings. Eventually, though, he forced himself to ring the doorbell.

To Chase's surprise, House opened the door right away, as if he had been waiting for him. Chase cringed at the thought of what else House was going to say, but the old man surprised him.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked harshly, dragging Chase inside and looking him over from top to bottom.

Under his gaze, Chase felt as if he were a mischievous child with a split lip, black eye, and torn clothes.

House never mentioned the alcohol on Chase's breath, though.

"You need to take a shower."

House went straight to the bathroom, but Chase didn't follow him. He never expected such a greeting after the way they parted and he didn't want House's pity.

"I just came to get my things," he said hoarsely and went for his bag.

House stopped. Chase's behavior was expected. Even if House had taken the entire day to think, understanding that Chase made the right decision, it didn't change the fact that he had said too much. Knowing his disciple, House had no doubt that Chase spent the whole day mulling over his words. He just hoped that Chase could forgive him. This time he even had an excuse, he had behaved exactly the same way as an any family member would in a similar situation. And they should be forgiven for the hurtful things they say, shouldn't they?

"I'm sorry," House said quietly, watching as Chase gathered his belongings and put them inside his bag. He knew that his words would not change anything, but Chase had to know that he was capable of remorse and maybe if they could talk...

"No, you're right, I crossed the line. There's something wrong with me."

Chase said it calmly and droningly, looking around the room to see if he had forgotten something, as if it was the most rational thing to say. And that worried House the most. He hadn't been offensive, wasn't trying to reproach, he really believed in his own words, but before House had a chance to reply, Chase continued.

"Cameron was right, there's no way back for me. I've worked too long in a place where life and death existed too closely together, and it left me with just medical facts and little humanity."

"Cameron's a bitch with double standards," House countered.

He wasn't about to let Chase think that he was the worst human being who ever lived. He should have told the blond a long time ago, but didn't really think the problem ran so deep. Chase had been making the most difficult decisions, the ones that neither Cameron, nor Foreman would have, but that didn't make him a monster, rather the opposite. Sometimes those kinds of decisions were the only acceptable ones.

"But she never killed anyone on purpose."

House smiled bitterly. From everything he just said to Chase about his ex-wife, the younger man decided to argue with that. "Right, she just manipulated her husband into doing it. And she did it once herself."

Chase was unsure of what House was getting at and gave him a questing look.

"Ezra Powell," House answered simply.

Chase remembered that case, and how they argued about whether doctors had the right to help a patient if they wanted to die. The fact that Cameron was able to do it surprised him. He had thought House had done the deed.

"That doesn't change anything," Chase said, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking to the door.

House wanted to scream and bang his head on the wall at Chase's ill-timed stubbornness and Catholic guilt.

"Look, just stay for an hour or so, take a shower, have some dinner and then you can go if you still want to." House paused. "Or you can continue looking like you've just come from an extended stay in the Outback. Your choice."

Chase stopped. He wanted to leave so much that he didn't think about how he would look on the bike in his current state. Besides, his drivers license was gone, along with his wallet.

"You haven't eaten or slept and you don't have money or identification." House could feel that Chase was ready to give in and pushed further.

Chase just stood there in the hall. His sense of responsibility wasn't allowing him to leave, but the deep hurt wouldn't let him stay, either.

"I won't try to make you stay, I promise. Let's just make you better and then you can leave." House came closer and slid the bag from his shoulder.

Chase hung his head and half-heartedly made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door, turned on the water in the bathtub and without taking his clothes off, slid down the wall to the cold floor. Why was he so angry at House? Was it for what he said to him yesterday? But it was all true, he knew it perfectly well. Chase had taken the life of his best friend, and House had every right to vent his despair and pain. Or maybe he was angry because House hadn't said anything just now? Even if House had forgiven him, it didn't make Chase feel any better. He was still Wilson's murderer and a part of him wanted House to hate him. It would have been the appropriate price for what he had done.

After House convinced Chase to clean up, he went to the kitchen to find some ingredients from which to prepare dinner, but his head was filled with other thoughts. Somehow, he had to persuade Chase to stay for the night. There was no way he was going to let him leave in his current state of mind. To be honest, when he was waiting for Chase to return, House never imagined that the young man would return so broken. He would have understood if Chase had just taken his bike and drove away with no intention of coming back. Maybe his outburst the day before had been a subconscious way of driving Chase away so he could leave and start living his own life. As always, though, when it concerned the Australian everything wasn't as easy as House thought. Instead of shrugging off all his problems and just driving away to a new life, Chase drowned in them.

Deep down, House knew the moment would come when Wilson would want to rest finally. House had to be ready for that eventuality, he had wanted to help his friend, but instead chose to ignore the obvious. Even worse, he had been so emotionally weak that he let another man take the blame. Not only had he let Wilson ask someone else, he gave him the best argument to do so, ensuring that Chase would not be able to say no. In retrospect, he could see Wilson's reaction to Chase's secret in a different light. What a fool he had been! He shook his head in resentment. From the moment he saw the figures on the pajama sleeve, he had become angry at himself. But just as he hadn't enough courage to help his friend, he also didn't want to accept fault.

House looked at his watch. Over forty minutes had passed, and Chase still hadn't come back from the bathroom. Something was wrong. House knocked on the door. "Chase, dinner is ready! Come on, make it quick!"

There was no answer. House turned the doorknob with little hope of it being unlocked, but it was. He pushed the door open and saw Chase sitting motionless on the floor, his head resting on his knees.

"I'm so sorry," Chase whispered.

House remained silent, not knowing what to say. He wanted to feel glad that Chase had forgiven him, but he didn't. Admittedly, all of this was his own fault. Regardless, House had to help Chase deal with his unwarranted guilt, but first he needed to take care of the Australian's physical needs.

"Are you going to take a shower or not? The water is running just to your left," House said as cheerfully as he could, trying to wake up Chase from his stupor.

Chase started to get up, but then flinched from the pain. Without a second thought, House took out his bottle with Vicodin pills and offered it to him.

"Are you crazy? I'm right in the middle of hangover."

"I never had any problems with that," House shrugged his shoulders, glad that the lost expression on Chase's face had been replaced with annoyance.

"I'm not you."

"Say it more often and maybe it will help."

When Chase finally got up, his head began spinning and he felt sick. In a moment he was down again, hugging the toilet.

"Young people these days; can't even hold their liquor," House said jokingly, spotting dried blood in Chase's hair just above his right temple. He touched the wound cautiously. At first, it didn't seem dangerous, but House knew how misleading head traumas could be.

"You bumped your head pretty hard."

"It's nothing," Chase said, catching his breath after the first wave of nausea had passed.

"The reason you're being turned inside out isn't the booze, you know."

"I know," Chase said impatiently. He was a doctor as well and wasn't going to listen to House's grumbling.

"So, no dinner obviously. I'll make you some tea, but please take a shower at least. You stink like a bum."

Chase wanted to retort, but a new wave of nausea hit him yet again.

House rolled his eyes and left while still listening to what was happening inside the bathroom. Chase continued to retch for at least another twenty minutes.

cCc

About an hour later, Chase showed up in the kitchen dressed in T-shirt and jeans, his face still decorated by his night adventures.

House was more bothered by the purple bruise under Chase's left cheekbone, the one he was responsible for. How many times was he was going to vent his despair on the blond, knowing that Chase was taught to accept and forgive that kind of abuse? In his wave of rage, he blamed Chase for seeking a replacement for his parents in him, when really, he wasn't any better than they had been.

House waited until Chase finished his tea before speaking. "I'm sorry for being such a dick. I really hope you're angry with me, because if you're not, then there is _definitely_ something wrong with you."

Chase took a deep breath and looked up at House. He didn't want to talk about it, but at the same time, couldn't help wondering why House seemed to care. He couldn't escape the conversation, but he _could_ speed it up by getting straight to the point. "I don't buy it that you didn't know what was happening, which makes me wonder why you didn't interfere."

"Because you were right."

Chase released a breath he didn't know he was holding. House would never know how much those words meant to him.

"But since you're still here and not in prison," House continued, "that means Wilson didn't use the code. Just more proof that I shouldn't have vented on you."

Chase averted his eyes. "I don't know."

"What do you mean '_you don't know_?"

"I don't know whether he used the code or not. Whatever Wilson did, I told him, which means - it was my fault," Chase said angrily.

"What about the Pathologist report?" House couldn't understand how such important information like cause of death was not known.

"His tox-screen report was clean, but I don't know if it was true or not."

_'I had my chance to know the truth, but I lost it,'_ Chase thought to himself.

"What do you mean '_the report was clean_', you bribed the Pathologist?"

"Not quite like that." Chase wanted to skip this topic, but looking at the intrigued face of his ex-boss, he knew that he had no chance. "I just had to choose the right person."

House was looking at him, waiting for an answer. "So you didn't pay him, but you knew that he would cover for you? Why? Spit it out!"

"Treiber," Chase confessed.

"Ha, I would never thought about that!"

"He owed me, and..." Chase didn't finish the thought, but instead grabbed his head. The dull headache that had been haunting him since he woke up suddenly turned into a sharp pain in his temples.

House looked at him concerned.

"My head hurts, but it'll go away." Chase tried to shrug it off, knowing he wasn't fooling anyone, especially not House.

House silently took out two Vicodin pills and put them on the table in front of Chase.

This time young doctor didn't refuse and washed them down with remainder of his tea. "Do you have enough stash? I can..."

House shook his head letting Chase know that he was fine. "I know you can, but right now you need to sleep. And go to the bedroom, I want to watch TV."

Chase didn't protest, Vicodin helped him with his headache, but overall, he still felt like crap. He went to the bedroom, took his jeans off, crawled under the covers and in a moment was sound asleep.

cCc

House checked on Chase a while later and was relieved that the young doctor was finally resting.

He now understood the other man's decisions in life; that it was much easier to take care of someone else than to be so broken to be taken care of. From the moment Chase returned, House had become so preoccupied with worry for the Australian that he had actually forgotten about his damaged leg and how strongly he missed his deceased friend.

* * *

_Thank you very much everyone who took their time to leave a review - it means a lot to me :)_


	16. Chapter 16

_I'm afraid I mislead some of you to think that the last chapter was the end, but it's not, there are six more._

_My deep gratitude goes to my editors - __Koralina, Pallada and Le Me, and __everyone who took their time to review! Thank you very much!_

_I had no intention to write hurt/comfort stuff in this story, but Koralina asked me to write this chapter, so here it is :)_

* * *

House was watching TV, but his thoughts were occupied by Chase. He was glad for the young man's company, but he knew that that couldn't last forever, and sooner or later he would have to let him go. House had given him everything he could, but now was just dragging him along into his misery and despair. But that didn't mean that he was ready to send him away, not now, not while Chase still believed in all these horrible things about himself.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that at first he didn't pay much attention to the strange sounds coming from the bedroom. When he finally realized that it was Chase, he got up and limped there as fast as his damaged leg allowed him. He found Chase leaning away from the bed, and vomiting a dark yellowish liquid, which apparently once used to be tea, onto the floor.

House came closer and sat on the bed while holding out a hand to steady young man's head. Chase, feeling the support, leaned closer to House. He was still shaking and retching, but he had nothing left to give except bilious, gastric fluid. Finally, it stopped, leaving behind only a heaviness in his chest; he fell back on the pillow exhausted and panting. The dull light from the night lamp seemed too bright and cut through his eyes, making his head explode with unbearable pain. Chase raised his hand to wipe at some drool, only to find out that it was blood; he probably reopened his split lip and didn't even notice it. Sighing wearily, he involuntarily groaned and curled up in the fetal position, as if that could ease the pain. Vicodin allowed him to rest for a couple of hours, but eventually the pain came back stronger than ever.

House frowned. It was obvious that the situation was serious. All of Chase's symptoms - severe headache, persistent vomiting, light sensitivity - were pointing to a concussion. But here at home, with no medical equipment, House couldn't tell how serious it was. He knew that he should take Chase to the hospital, not only about the apparent head trauma, but Chase could have suffered some internal damage from the fight as well, something that House hadn't thought of previously. And as if that wasn't enough, he'd been an idiot to offer Chase his Vicodin. House couldn't excuse himself for that. He suspected the concussion from the start, so why on Earth had he decided to give him the pills? Such a strong painkiller would mask the real symptoms, and House simply wouldn't be able to react in time if something went wrong.

But something was stopping him from calling 911. If he did, they would take Chase away and he'd be unable to even visit him. Who knew what those morons from the ER could do to his Aussie without proper supervision. But deep down he knew that he was just afraid to let Chase go, afraid that after everything that had happened he wouldn't come back. Just as harrowing was his guilt. If not for his harsh words, Chase would have stayed home sober and safe, instead of getting drunk and beaten. Better yet - if House was stronger – he'd already sent him back to New Jersey so that Chase could get on with his normal life at PPTH. House sighed and went back to the problem at hand, he could engage in self-flagellation later.

"Did they hit you in the stomach?" House had to get more information from Chase in order to be ready for all possible outcomes.

"What?" Chase muttered irritably. He was in no mood for House's puzzles.

"I asked when you were beaten, did they hit you in the stomach?"

"I don't remember!" He tried to open his eyes, but everything was in double vision so he closed them again.

"They hit you in the face, apparently with their fists, but you hit your head on something hard, probably the pavement, which means you fell, which means they got a better access to places lower than your pretty face. So, come on, turn on your back, I need to have a look," House said as if explaining the obvious to a child; Chase didn't seem too impressed by that.

"No," was all he said in return.

There was no way House could accept that answer, so he stood up and tried to turn Chase on his back, but was surprised when the young man fought back.

Chase pushed away House's hands, curled up on his side even more and, without opening his eyes, hissed. "I said NO! Get away from me!"

"If you won't let me look at you, I'm gonna have to call an ambulance, and they won't dance around you like I'm currently doing."

This time Chase opened his eyes. "You'd rather let me die here than call the ambulance."

House flinched as if Chase had slapped him. It was true, but it didn't make the realization of what Chase thought of him less painful. The only pleasant thing in that was that Chase had stopped sparing House's feelings, and now, finally, he could learn what the young man really thought about him.

"So you want to die?"

"I'm not dying, House," Chase said angrily. The headache was blinding, and House, instead of helping, was only aggravating the situation.

"Well then, no problem!" House grumbled in response, and left the room.

After crossing the living room several times House cursed under his breath and went back to the bedroom. Whatever Chase said to him, he still needed help. Besides, House was familiar with what Chase was trying to do, because he often said sarcastic things himself to get rid of people who were trying to help. Sooner or later he succeeded, almost with everyone, and this is where it had led him; he didn't want Chase to end up like that.

House came back and sat on the bed; Chase didn't even stir. It seemed he hadn't moved an inch since the older doctor had left him. House looked closer and spotted tiny beads of sweat on his forehead as well as a redness present on his cheeks. Both symptoms meant that he had spiked a fever; this was definitely very bad. At best, Chase was suffering from severe dehydration due to vomiting, at worst, inflammation caused by some internal injuries. The former was more likely, but if House was wrong, than any delay could cost Chase his life. It was no longer just a concussion, and House was not sure if he was ready to take that risk. Perhaps, the hospital was the best option after all.

Chase opened his eyes. House was sitting on the bed and thinking so hard that you could almost hear his thoughts. But right now Chase couldn't care less about House's anxiety. His head was still hurting like hell, and the cramps in his stomach were back making him wince and go from flushed to chilled and then back in a single moment.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Chase whispered while touching House with his hand to get his attention. He could barely move, so there was no way he could get up without help.

"You've just thrown up everything you had in your stomach, what are you going to do there?" House grumbled, when Chase distracted him from his thoughts.

"You may watch, just help me get there."

House silently got up, bent over Chase and stuck his right hand behind his back helping him to sit up. Once Chase changed position, everything swam before his eyes. He would have fallen back, if House hadn't been supporting him.

"Can you stand up?" House asked without a hint of sarcasm, seeing as Chase's face in mere seconds changed color from deathly white to gray.

Chase would've liked to nod, but was afraid to move his head, knowing that he could pass out from that simple movement. After a while, the surroundings were not spinning as fast and he stopped seeing double; Chase looked up at House, letting him know that he was ready to get up.

House helped him, but almost lost his balance himself when Chase leaned on him with all his weight.

"Hey, take it easy, I'm a cripple!" He wanted to defuse the situation, but the words sounded grim. House knew he wasn't able to take care of Chase, as he could hardly lift him up. If Chase couldn't even stand on his own two feet, then why hadn't he called an ambulance yet?

Each step was very hard on the both of them. Dizziness and weakness were making Chase lean more heavily on House, whose damaged leg protested against it. Finally, they reached the bathroom, and Chase collapsed next to the toilet.

"Did you come here to puke?! You could have just done it in the bedroom, you know, where the rest of it is," House snarked.

"Just... give me a break for a moment."

House would have allowed Chase to sit quietly for a while if not for the nausea, which hit hard again after their troubled journey from the bedroom. A second later, Chase was forced to bend over the toilet again.

Cursing, House stretched his hand out to once again support the Australian's forehead who now was spitting out more caustic liquid. House noticed that Chase had become much hotter. If the cause was loss of fluid, he urgently had to make Chase drink to stay hydrated, but only in very small amounts otherwise it would just induce more vomiting.

When the nausea had slightly lessened, House helped Chase to lean against the wall before going to the kitchen.

"Here." He handed him a tablespoon of water.

Chase looked up at him. He was thirsty as hell, and one spoon wasn't enough.

"Drink," House ordered. "I can't give you more, unless you want the toilet to be your best companion for the near future."

Chase didn't protest, and drank the proposed liquid although it wasn't enough at all. House looked at the clock - in three minutes he would give him more.

"Come on, I'll help you get up, you came here with purpose, right?"

Actually House wanted to see whether there was blood in the urine. This would rule out kidney damage. Of course, it was easier to ask, but House knew that everybody lied, and apparently yesterday the young man had been in no condition to remember the details. But Chase stared at him, as if he didn't remember why he'd come here, and it made House even more concerned.

He repeated his question. "Chase, you said that you needed to use the toilet, we got here. Come on, do what you came here for and let's get back to bed!"

Chase tensed, trying to remember why he'd wanted to come here, but all that came to mind was the fact that he was feeling constantly sick and hot, and that the toilet seemed to be a cool place.

The bafflement on Chase's face turned House's concern into a real fear. He was clearly not in his right mind and maybe had problems with short-term memory. Whether it was the result of a concussion or his spiking fever, it was time to do something: either treat Chase himself, or send him to the hospital.

"Chase, can you hear me?" he asked loudly and clearly.

Chase, as if awakened from a dream, muttered irritably, "I hear you just fine, but for God's sake don't shout,my ears are ringing even without it!"

House exhaled with relief when Chase gave him a more or less coherent answer. So, the disorientation was due to a fever, which meant it could be fixable. He stood up and reached to the small cabinet to get the thermometer. Chase tried to protest, but this time House was firm and wasn't going to play any games, so the younger man surrendered. A minute later the device beeped and House looked at the temperature.

"103.1," House said hoping to impress Chase, but the young man didn't seem to hear him at all; he was shivering constantly now.

Up to this point House struggled to remain optimistic and sober, but looking at the battered face of his young friend, whose body was shaking uncontrollably, he could no longer ignore the guilt. He was the only one responsible for what was happening to Chase, starting from the moment when he set him up and allowed him to kill Wilson, and ending with kicking him out. If Chase died in his arms, just because he didn't want to take him to the hospital, House knew that he wouldn't be able to live with himself. It was hard enough to lose one friend, knowing that nothing could've been done, but to lose another, knowing that he could've saved him, but didn't, was unbearable. Only now that he faced the risk of losing another person dear to him, did House realize that the pain of losing Wilson no longer consumed his every thought.

"Chase, can you hear me?" House tried to get his attention.

"What?" Chase asked perplexedly, as if he had already forgotten about their conversation.

"You have a high fever, we need to get you back to bed." House wanted to shake him up a little to wake him.

But at that point, Chase mumbled something like, "I'm so tired," and began to slide down the wall.

"No, no, no! Don't you dare!" House exclaimed, but it was too late, Chase passed out.

House desperately threw his hands up in the air. The thought that all this wasn't solely the result of the concussion was crossing his mind more and more often; severe vomiting and fever could be from internal injuries. Without hesitation, he laid Chase on the cold floor and pushed his t-shirt up. There were several purple bruises all over his chest and stomach, the seriousness of which could be assessed only in the hospital. But still House didn't call 911, instead he palpated the chest for broken ribs. Fortunately, all were intact, and House sighed with relief.

House ran his hands through his hair, looking down at the unresponsive blond, and tried to gather his thoughts. What would he do if Chase was his patient? He decided to stop at his first diagnosis - the concussion. In that case, the fever was likely to be caused by dehydration, which would mean all he had to do was restore the fluid balance. But he couldn't make Chase drink when he was unconscious; he needed IV saline, which could only be obtained from the pharmacy since Chase, the idiot, had thrown out everything left from Wilson's care.

House tried to stir up the young man one more time, but to no avail. He bent down, grabbed him under the armpits and slowly dragged him towards the bedroom. It took him a long five minutes to overcome this tiny distance, but to raise the lifeless body onto the bed was beyond his abilities. On the other hand, if he was going to leave Chase alone, it was probably better that he remained on the floor, as it was impossible to fall from it. He turned him to the side and propped him up by pillows. This way, Chase wouldn't fall on his back and accidentally choke on his own vomit should the sickness return.

He was leaving the young man with a heavy heart, but he had no other choice. House knew while he was out, Chase's condition could take a turn for the worse, and no one would be around to help. But as long as he stayed with Chase, he wasn't able to do anything to help bring the temperature down, which would definitely be worse for the Aussie. It was another lose-lose situation, whatever he chose. House put on a jacket and went outside.

Cold wind from the ocean engulfed him from head to toe, forcing him to fasten his jacket. And at that moment, another idea became apparent. Chase had obviously spent last night on the street; common cold explained vomiting and fever but didn't explain the dizziness and severe headache. House shook his head to stay concentrated on task at hand and quickened his pace, he had to return home quickly. He bought an IV bag, a few bags of saline, antipyretic, blood thinners to prevent the clots, a sedative, an anesthetic, intravenous nutrition and finally something for the cold, just in case.

He sighed with relief when he found Chase in the same position he had left him in. The IV pole was gone with the rest of medical equipment they used to have, so House taped the IV bag with saline to the wall. Then came the most difficult part - putting Chase to the bed. He managed, with great difficulty, and put Chase on his right side. House turned up Chase's left hand, then sat down on a chair; everything he might need he laid on the nearby bed-stand. He rubbed the inside of the young man's arm with alcohol and inserted the needle. Chase didn't even flinch. Very soon it would be clear what was causing the unconsciousness: high fever or concussion.

While he was at the pharmacy, Chase's temperature had risen one more degree, and now was 105. A little more and the critical temperature could cause brain damage, as if a concussion wasn't enough. He watched as drops fell one by one into Chase's bloodstream, hoping that he had gotten the diagnosis right. He had to wait thirty minutes before he could measure the temperature again and those were the longest thirty minutes of his life. House noticed that the thermometer he was using, was the one he had used with Wilson. He wasn't one to attach any kind of significance to things like that, but still he felt uneasy, and carefully watched the rise and fall of the Chase's chest. Even now, when he was unconscious, cramps haunted him, causing the blond to curl up in attempt to ease the pain. At such moments, House held his hand so Chase wouldn't pull out the IV.

When there was still one minute left, House caved and measured the temperature. He sighed with relief when he saw 104; it was coming down, meaning the problem was dehydration and not something more serious. All House had to do was restore the fluid balance and give Chase drugs to help with the concussion, but first he had to wait until the Australian woke up.

House sat silently beside the bed, wiping the young man's forehead with a wet cloth and taking his temperature every half an hour. It steadily, albeit slowly, declined, which was a good tendency. But despite his hopes that the temperature would stabilize, it stopped descending at 99.5, which meant that, somewhere, the inflammatory process was still ongoing.

cCc

After a while, Chase slowly began to come around. He rolled over and opened his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked barely audible due to the hoarse voice. The last thing he remembered was how sick he felt in the bathroom.

"You almost died."

"I don't remember feeling so bad."

"I do," House grumbled.

Chase looked at his hand and saw an IV. He looked questioningly at House.

"Relax, it's just saline. Try to get some sleep."

House couldn't give Chase anything because of the concussion, so it would have been good if his body could cope with the temperature and vomiting itself.

"My head, it...it's killing me," Chase muttered, clutching his temples.

"No more Vicodin for you, you're not mature enough for it yet."

"You think I feel so bad because of it?"

"No, you feel the way you do because you banged your stubborn head somewhere. And you shouldn't have taken Vicodin for the same reason."

"You still think it's a concussion?"

"Well, if you didn't eat tainted oysters at all over the past few days, then yes, I think it's a concussion. Now, stop talking and go to sleep, I'll wake you up in two hours. Well, you know the rules."

Chase closed his eyes. He was ready to beg House to give him pain medication, but he knew that it was impossible to do in his condition. He felt as House put a wet cloth to his forehead, it wasn't much, but it relieved the pain a little bit.

"Be patient, it should get better. Try to sleep."

House wanted Chase to sleep, but at the same time was afraid that he wouldn't be able to wake him up. He mused it was still better than watching Chase suffer from pain, knowing that he could do nothing to help.

House removed the cloth and began to massage Chase's temples. Sometimes he would pass his fingers through his hair, and then return to the temples. The fact that the Australian didn't turn away or push his hand away, gave him the confirmation to continue. After a while, Chase's breathing became more even, but judging by the tension on his face, he wasn't sleeping.

"I'm sorry," House said barely audible, continuing a circular motion with his fingers. "It wasn't your fault. I had to do it, not you. You helped him and saved me, and I just vented on you for nothing."

A single tear rolled down Chase's cheek, confirming that the young doctor had heard him.

* * *

_This time I'm really asking for your feedback, because translation goes terribly hard and I need the nudge to do it further. __So please review!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you very much to everyone, who took their time to comment! And I'm very very sorry for such a long delay in updating! As I said before - translation is not something I like to do, and there are five more chapters ahead for me._

_As always, many many thanks to my editors - Koralina, Le Me and StormyMonday._

* * *

House looked at the clock and put the game on hold. It was time to wake up Chase again. House desperately wanted to sleep, but couldn't leave Chase unattended; the fact that he let himself relax a little bit and play instead of monitoring Chase's every breath, was a great achievement.

Just a few hours ago, which seemed like an eternity to House, Chase had been feeling so bad that he couldn't even relax enough to fall asleep. He'd been lying quietly without complaint, but the darkness of the room hadn't hidden from House the clenched teeth and suppressed moans, and as if the blinding headache wasn't enough, the retching hadn't stopped, exacerbating the younger man's condition. At some point, Chase twitched, trying to get up. Was he going to try and get his hands on the painkillers? House didn't know, but he couldn't risk it. While they still didn't know the cause of such a severe headache, any kind of medications were out of the question.

It didn't take much effort for House to keep Chase in bed, the young man was simply too weak, but seeing the tears of despair in Chase's eyes was much more difficult. His attempts to ease the pain by massaging his head or putting a wet towel on his brow didn't help at all. It seemed the Australian didn't even feel his touch. House could only sit next to him and watch helplessly as Chase violently clutched the sheet in his hands and buried his face into the pillow. The only option for saving him from his suffering was the hospital, and House decided that enough was enough. He was in the middle of dialing the number on his cell when Chase snatched the phone from his hand, and with all his remaining force, threw it to the floor.

"Hey, there's no need to break other people's toys," House muttered, picking up the phone from the floor. Chase didn't hear him, though. He was too lost in his misery yet again.

Finally, around five in the morning, Chase passed out. House suspected that the headache had finally subsided, but most likely the Aussie was so exhausted that he just couldn't stay awake any longer. To make sure that he wasn't in a coma, House checked his pupils several times.

cCc

Waking Chase up two hours later seemed like the worst thing that House had ever done. Considering how many hours it had taken Chase to fall asleep, it was almost like torture, but House had to do it.

"Chase, open your eyes." House gently shook the young man's shoulder. "Let's not complicate things for each other. Open your eyes, answer a couple of questions, and then get back to sleep."

After a sleepy grunt and a few unsuccessful attempts to throw House's arm from his shoulder, Chase opened his eyes. His stats were gradually returning to normal, everything except the fever, but House didn't want to think about that yet.

"Good." House nodded and began a series of questions. "Name?"

"Robert Chase."

"Place of work?"

"PPTH."

"Your boss?"

"Selfish bastard."

For the first time since his condition took a turn for the worse, House noted the younger man's sarcasm as a positive sign, which made him smile. If Chase had enough strength to joke, then he would be fine.

"Okay, that's all, see you in two hours." House made a note in a notebook with symptoms that he started in order to better monitor the dynamics of Chase's condition. Then he stood up and closed the curtains so the sunlight would not disturb the Aussie's sleep.

Judging by the tense expression on Chase's face, his headache was still quite strong, but much weaker than before. The nausea was apparently almost gone, too. House made himself comfortable in his chair, waited until the young man's breathing was even and quiet, and only then allowed himself to fall asleep.

This time, House didn't turn on the alarm clock, allowing both of them to sleep as much as they wanted. After waking in the early afternoon, House went straight to his basic questions to make sure that Chase was still sane enough. Once satisfied Chase was improving, he moved on to other matters.

"It's been a while since you've vomited, so let's try a a little bit of tea. It's soothing, should help your headache a little bit."

Chase nodded. His throat was dry, and he was eager to get rid of the taste of vomit in his mouth. He grabbed the cup and began drinking quickly.

"Hey, slow down!" House stopped Chase after a couple of gulps, and put the mug on the bedside table. "So, how do you feel?"

"Better." Chase leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt well enough to analyze his condition. His head was still aching, but it was no comparison to the blinding pain from before. The nausea was gone and hadn't come back, even after his tea. So, considering his condition satisfactory, he opened his eyes and looked up at House.

"I think it is time to remove the IV."

House grinned. "It's only been a couple of hours since you were puking and wishing you were dead, and here you are giving orders."

"I feel better, I know that much."

"Good for you, but the IV is here not only for the obvious reasons, but also to keep your pretty ass in bed."

"Believe me, I'm not ready to get up and run a marathon or something, if that's what you were thinking," Chase said wearily, but with a smile.

House nodded, taking it as a promise that the young man wouldn't jump out of bed as soon as he removed the IV.

"Okay, give me your hand, it's time to get you back to normal food."

Chase turned his hand, and House pulled out the needle and tightly bandaged the punctured skin to keep it from bleeding. Removing the drip from the wall, he threw it in the corner, hoping to never use it again.

"Does your head still hurt?" House asked.

Chase gave him a barely noticeable nod.

"I'll bring you something to eat, and then you can take the painkillers."

Chase nodded again and closed his eyes.

House was back soon with a plate in his hands. He pulled a chair up to the bed, ready to feed Chase if he was still too weak, but the young man pushed his hand away, sat up, and took the plate.

"Good," House said satisfied.

Chase ate less than half of what House had offered him before handing the plate back to him. The diagnostician didn't insist that Chase finish everything, as he didn't want to rush things now that Chase wasn't lying in bed, exhausted and writhing in pain like before.

"So do you want something for the pain?"

Chase took time to think about that. He knew that House would not offer him anything strong enough to really ease the pain, and anything else wouldn't really help him, only make him groggy, something he was getting fed up with.

"No, I don't. I think I'll just watch some TV." Chase pulled away the covers to get out of bed. He wanted to escape from pain and his problems, so what could be better than television?

House sighed wearily. That was exactly why he wanted to keep him on IV a little bit longer.

"Did I mention that you're starting a three day, Gregory House Bed Rest Program, and it doesn't include TV?"

Chase looked up at him in surprise.

"I worked for you for years and never heard of TV being dangerous."

"My place, my rules."

"Ok then, can I look through the news on the web?"

"No, you can't."

"Music?"

"Nope."

"Read a book?"

"No, but I can read _to you_ if you want."

To hear something like that from House was unexpected and strangely touching, but he was not going to let the old diagnostician lock him inside those four walls just because House was being paranoid.

"I need to contact the girls, they could have a case."

"Thinking is also prohibited."

"I can't watch TV, read, listen to music, _or_ think. What the hell am I supposed to do?" Chase was outraged. He hated to feel sick and helpless. Even after the accident, he had done everything to get out of the hospital and back to normal life as quickly as possible.

"House, please, just let me check my e-mail," he pleaded, though knowing that House wasn't likely to give in. If the only thing he could do was lie in bed doing nothing, it was probably better to take the painkillers.

"I told you, no phone and no computer."

"I have neither."

"Good."

"What if they need help?"

"Since when do you have such a high level of responsibility?"

Chase didn't respond. He went through a few scenarios in his head on how to convince House, before settling on good old bribery.

"I'll give you the password to my e-mail."

"Let me guess, the password is _'password'_?"

Chase made a face.

"Okay, I'll check it for you, but if they do have a case, it's none of your business."

Chase nodded.

House pulled out his phone, entered the password Chase gave him, and gasped.

"28 unread messages, Dr. Chase!"

Chase sighed, but he knew what he was getting into by letting House to his inbox.

"I'll start from the old ones: _'We have a new case'_ – Park."

House paused, looking at the preceding messages, which were analyses and data on the patient.

"Strange. Now they're only sending you one report. That means they finally figured out that both had been consulting with you. Why didn't you want them to know that before?"

"I don't want it now either," Chase explained with a little disappointment in his voice. "Now they're trying to agree on something before sending it to me, but I want their original ideas; it's easier to work with."

"So just tell them to send everything."

"I did, it didn't help. But if I make them do a bunch of unsubstantiated tests, they'll eventually get angry and dump on me everything they really think," Chase grinned.

"My little boy's growing up," House said melodramatically, pretending to wipe away tears.

"Screw you, you better tell me about the new case."

"You're not going to fool me, so no case for you, my dear. Your brain needs a rest. That's why we'll skip the emails about the patients, and believe me, there is so much more interesting stuff besides this case."

House continued to read. "_Where are you? Contact us ASAP!'_ – Adams.

_'Foreman knows that you're not consulting'_ \- Park.

_'Foreman is wrong all the time, we need your help'_ \- Adams.

_'Foreman is threatening to fire you and close the entire department'_ \- Park.

_'He said that you have one day!'_ \- Park again."

"It's quite strange that Adams doesn't warn you about Foreman's threats. Oh, no, here it goes: _'Foreman had already signed the papers to transfer Park to another department as soon as we finish this case. I don't need another job, I'll leave PPTH, if you're not here.'_ \- Adams."

House swiveled around to look at Chase with a sly expression. "Oh, how romantic, I told you, she's in love with you. Why do you ignore the poor girl?"

Chase gave House a stern look. He hated discussing his personal life, or rather, lack thereof.

"And the stakes are getting higher..." House continued to read on, ignoring the young man's look.

"_I'm sorry, Foreman left me no choice.'_ \- Park."

At first House didn't understand why Park was apologizing, but after reading the next message everything became clear - Chase hadn't given his new e-mail to Foreman, otherwise he would have already flooded it with angry messages.

"_Where the hell are you?! I told you, you have one day.'_ – Foreman.

_'Fine, Chase, you don't need to come back any more!'_ – Foreman."

"Congratulations, you are officially unemployed!" House finished reading and then plaintively asked, "Please, pretty please, let me answer him?"

"Do whatever you want." Chase closed his eyes. Although House found all of this mess amusing, Chase didn't share his feelings about it. He wasn't afraid that Foreman would carry out his threat, but it meant that he would have to explain himself to him and listen to a lecture about responsibility. And that wasn't factoring in how things might pan out once the correspondence, which House was about to start, got added into the equation.

House noticed how tense Chase's face had become. If one simple conversation exhausted him so much, then there was no way he would let him out of bed in the near future.

"Are you going to sleep again?"

"Do I have a choice?" Chase chuckled.

"There are always other options," House shrugged. "They just need to fit with your capabilities."

Chase nodded, acknowledging the truth of House's words. He really was very tired just trying to think, let alone solve the case.

"Now, leave me alone and let me compose a message to your boss."

Chase smiled, imagining Foreman's face when he read _that_ message, and closed his eyes, falling into slumber.

_'If you touch my stuff again, I'll come back and beat you with my cane.'_

House didn't expect an answer, but it came almost immediately.

_'The last time I saw him, Chase had no cane. Where is he?'_ – Foreman.

_'And you're still at work. So I assume - no personal life?'_ House quipped, estimating it was past eight in the evening in New Jersey.

_'I would have been home, if you hadn't stolen one of my employees. Where's Chase?'_

House couldn't resist and took a picture of the sleeping Chase, still with clearly visible bruises on his face.

The answer was quite expected.

_'What the hell happened?'_

_'He got his ass kicked.'_

_'I assume, not without your help.'_

_'Why does it always have to be _my fault_?'_

_'You know why! When will you finally let him go?'_

_'I'm not holding anybody hostage.'_

_'The hell you aren't. Let him go, you know it would be better for him.'_

_'Since when did you become his protector?'_

_'I'm not protecting him, I need him.'_

_'Don't forget that when he's being sued again.'_

_'House, you know what you have to do.'_

_'Right, help you solve the case, so quit whining.'_

The answer didn't come immediately, but eventually Foreman agreed to change the topic.

_'What does Chase think?'_

_'He doesn't, he's not allowed to think yet.'_

_'House, hell, what are you not telling me?'_

_'Nothing. Do you need help or not?'_

_'I suppose you have a theory.'_

_'It's his ears.'_

_'We checked him from top to bottom, it's not relevant to his state. Besides he's had hearing problems since he was a child.'_

_'Deafness is a symptom. As soon as you find out what's in his brain causing it, you'll solve the problem.'_

Foreman pondered House's theory before he wrote back.

_'Tell Chase to contact me.'_

_'For the next few days he's quarantined: no phones, no computers and no cases.'_

_'There's something wrong with his head?'_

_'The neurologist finally guessed :)'_

_'Is it serious?'_

_'If it had been serious, we would have been talking about it.'_

_'Okay, we'll scan the patient's brain again. I hope you're right.'_

_'I'm always right.'_

_'Don't flatter yourself, House.'_

_'At least I'm right much more often than you are. Are you still going to fire Chase?'_

_'I don't think he would be very useful with a head injury.'_

_'Of course, you should know!' House answered_

_'Two weeks of unpaid leave, and you help the girls until he's be back in shape.'_

_'Thank you for believing in me still,'_ House wrote with satisfied smirk.

_'Let him go.'_ This was the last thing that Foreman sent him.

House looked at Chase, who was fast asleep. He needed as much rest as he could get. He knew that Foreman was right, and he had to let Chase go, but only after he corrected all the consequences of his reckless words.

cCc

Chase slept through the entire afternoon until the evening, but he still felt tired and overwhelmed.

"Still don't want any pain meds? I can give you something stronger, not the Vicodin of course, but it will help with the headache."

"I don't know yet. I'm just tired of being tired," Chase answered irritably.

"Your body has gone through a lot. Give it some time."

"Yeah, yeah, I went to med school too, though you all want to think otherwise!" Chase interrupted him abruptly.

The mood swings seemed suspicious to House so he made a note in his notebook.

"And stop writing about me! I'm not your guinea pig! Two days ago you didn't care if I lived or died!"

House flinched as if Chase had hit him. The young man had always tended to avoid conflicts, but when he didn't, he could deal some low blows.

"Chase, I know you heard me last time, but I can repeat it again if you want."

Chase sighed wearily and looked away. He didn't know what had come over him. Perhaps the whole thing was the result of the nagging headache that didn't want to let him go.

"Don't."

"It had must have made you feel better."

"It didn't!" Chase laughed bitterly.

His relationship with House was more and more often beginning to resemble his relationship with his parents: whenever they made mistakes, he forgave them, often justifying his reasons for doing so with excuses. In the end, he had hated both of them. He didn't want the same thing happening between himself and House, but maybe it was too late to change anything.

"You know, it doesn't matter how many times you're going to apologize to me, I know that sooner or later you're going to vent on me again - saying the same insulting stuff you always do, and the worst thing is that it's all true."

Chase took a deep breath. If he was going to change anything, he might as well start right now and tell House everything that was on his mind.

"But I was the only one chosen by you to learn that truth about myself. You never told Cameron that she never even got close to being like Mother Theresa; that she was as selfish as anybody, only doing things that would benefit her and nobody else. And you never told Foreman that he was an idiot, and was only wasting his time in diagnostics because he would never be able to think outside of his _superior_ brain!"

"I can tell him right now, if you want, considering how much time he spent on such a simple case. I solved it, by the way."

Chase smirked slightly, but he was still in a bad mood and didn't want to find it funny.

"All these years, it was like you were pushing my boundaries. Why me? Why did you choose me?"

"Because you could take it," House answered, while carefully examining his own hands.

From the very first meeting, he'd seen himself in Chase, and he'd done his best to try to change that; he never wanted the young man repeating his own mistakes. Apparently, it didn't turn out as well as he'd liked.

"It wasn't easy, you know."

"I never said it was."

Chase was silent. The time for his candor clearly had passed.

"Everybody lies. What I'd said then ... I just wanted to hurt you."

"Why?"

House shrugged. "I guess I thought that I'd feel better."

"Did you?"

"No, Chase, I didn't."

Chase could tell that House was waiting for him to say something, but the young man simply turned on his side and closed his eyes. For the first time in so long, he really didn't care about House's feelings. He'd given him so many chances, and now he didn't care about anything at all. All he wanted was for everybody to leave him alone.

House quietly got up and left. He was losing Chase. He'd realized it clearly when he'd seen the very same expression on the young man's face as many years ago. The fact that this time, Chase didn't repeat the speech about the indifference that didn't hurt, wasn't changing anything.

House went into the kitchen and turned on the water, to muffle the sound of him breaking the cupboard with his fist.

He needed to fix their broken relationship, but didn't know how. He'd managed to do it once, but that time Chase had been irrational. Now everything was different. What Chase had done for Wilson had been hard enough for him without House's conviction, especially when the old diagnostician didn't have the right to blame anyone except himself.

He opened the broken door and pulled out his usual bottle of whisky. It was a cowardly way out, but still better than Vicodin or morphine, which he really wanted. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost dropped the bottle when he heard Chase's voice behind him.

"Give me the Vicodin."

Chase could barely stand on his feet, leaning on the doorframe.

"You know..."

"Yeah, but I need to sleep and I can't."

"You'll get high from it, but when it's over, you'll just feel like shit again."

"At least I'll be able to get some sleep."

"That's exactly how people get addicted."

"I have a long way to go before I end up like you."

Chase looked at him. There was no resentment in his eyes, just tiredness, so House gave up. He knew he would blame himself for it again and watch every breath the Australian took, but he couldn't deny him a couple of hours of decent sleep. House silently shook out two Vicodin pills and handed them to Chase.

Chase quickly grabbed the offered pills and swallowed them dry, as if he was afraid that House would change his mind. A few minutes later, the stress on his face disappeared, and was replaced by a slight smile.

"Okay champ, it's beddie-bye time," House said, holding out his hand to steady Chase.

"I'm fine, you just said that I can take a lot," Chase muttered, but his sleepy eyes said otherwise.

House helped him into bed, covered him with a blanket, and then sat in the nearby chair, committed to, once again, watching the rise and fall of his old charge's chest; the whisky forgotten in the kitchen.

* * *

_My dear readers, can you please give me your rating for this story, from 1 to 10, it won't take much time, just put the number you think that is appropriate in a review box and click Post review. Thank you very much!_


	18. Chapter 18

_It's been months since I've updated this story and I'm very, very sorry about that! _

_But this time I do have an excuse:) I finished script writing course and wrote my original script for a motion picture. My teacher approved it, so I have to polish it up and hope that it will help me find a job in that field. Fingers crossed:)_

_As always, my deep gratitude to my editor - __StormyMonday!_

* * *

Chase opened his eyes. He had gotten used to waking up in the same dimly lit surroundings. House was sleeping in a chair next to his bed, still clutching the phone in his hands. Apparently, he wasn't going to fall asleep, but the need for rest had taken control. Chase turned his head to look at the clock. It was about six in the morning - the Vicodin helped him sleep almost through the whole night. Unfortunately, sleep faded much earlier than he would have liked, and the pain returned with a vengeance. House was right, he felt lousy. Chase rose heavily and sat down on the bed. He gave his body time to adjust to the new position before getting up and going to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the sink and looking at his reflection in the mirror for the first time since he had come back, he hardly recognized himself. The haggard face, dark blue circles under his eyes, and bruises were obvious signs that the whole ordeal was taking its toll.

Chase splashed his face with cold water, washing away the remnants of sleep. He wanted to get back to his normal self. Of course, he knew that it wouldn't happen quickly, but the progress had been too slow for his liking. He felt so weak in fact, that even the most mundane tasks were a chore, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He would have given anything to become the cheerful, energetic and self-sufficient man he once was. Before he was kicked out, he added bitterly to himself.

It wasn't his first fight with House, but now, standing in the small bathroom, far from the place he used to call home, he realized that he couldn't pretend any longer that nothing happened. He'd done it far too often only to realize that such behavior would not change anything. And it was not just about House. Throughout his life, he was the one to forgive, staying close and continuing to care, no matter how much people would hurt him. But that had changed. House helped him change. It didn't matter if it was for good or for worse, he couldn't behave like that anymore. The only way Chase could repay his ex-boss for all those years working together, and everything he had taught him, was to give House one last chance before disappearing from his life forever.

Chase turned off the water and went to the kitchen. Coming closer to the counter, he noticed that the cupboard door was damaged. He had heard a strange sound the day before, but was in too much pain to recognize the sound. Now he was looking at evidence that House cared, but couldn't reconcile his own feeling about it. He wasn't ready to forgive House, but he couldn't ignore everything that House had done for him, either. He opened the broken door to take out a glass, but at that very moment, a cramp shot through his hand. All he could do was to watch helplessly as the glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground shattering into many small pieces at his bare feet.

"Damn!" Chase swore in whisper.

He didn't want House to think that he couldn't take care for himself. He had been through a lot throughout his life and had survived. One broken glass wasn't a problem. Chase looked around - the broom and the dust were in the opposite corner, and the path there was littered with small pieces of glass. Chase leaned on the kitchen counter and tried to take a step, but his vision was blurred and unfocused. The dim light of the kitchen wasn't helping at all.

Suddenly, the lights came on. Chase looked up to see House at the entrance to the room.

It wasn't hard to guess what had happened. Without saying a word, House took a broom and swept the broken pieces away with a few strokes, freeing the way to the exit for Chase.

"You can go, I'll take care of it," he said quietly, continuing to clean the mess.

Chase didn't wait long and went into the bedroom, slamming the door shut. He knew that he was behaving like a child, but he was so angry. He was angry at himself for his weakness and inability to do such a simple thing as get a glass of water. But more than that, he was angry at House for taking it for granted, as if Chase was in need of his care. He slammed his fist on the wall, the pain in his hand sobering him.

Chase slumped wearily onto the bed. He had lost control. How could he bring himself to such a state? He was a doctor, dammit! He knew that he had to get to the hospital, and to hell with Foreman should he find out where House was, at least he wouldn't be lying in bed helpless.

House walked into the room with a cup of tea in one hand and a full bottle of water under his arm.

Silently, Chase took the cup and took a few sips before putting it on the nightstand. He was very thirsty, but the realization that even in that simple need he had to ask for help was unnerving.

"How are you?" House asked.

"Shitty," Chase answered briefly, and without any emotion.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," House nodded and left. House knew perfectly well how it was to feel totally helpless, even if it was temporary, so he decided to give the Australian his space.

Chase followed him with his gaze and reached for the cup, but the sudden tremor was back. He needed to eat to regain his strength, but didn't dare pick up the cup to avoid repeating the same mess he had made in the kitchen. He was about to fall back on the pillow, when his eyes fell on the notebook, with House's notes about his condition. Chase picked it up and began reading.

The notes were essentially dry, as if House was writing about another patient rather than someone he had known for more than ten years. It angered Chase even though he knew that House was doing it for his sake - in case things were to go wrong and Chase would end up in the hospital. And the worst part was that Chase didn't remember half of it. He didn't remember the orientation loss, how House helped him get to the bathroom and why he wanted to get there in the first place. He couldn't remember how he lost consciousness. Chase could only imagine how much effort it took House to drag him back to bed, but Chase felt neither pity nor gratitude, because House was to blame for what happened to him. And that stupid sense of guilt Chase didn't know how to get rid of. He had done the right thing, so why he couldn't forgive himself?

House walked back into the room and found Chase with a notebook in his hands. Chase was lost in his own thoughts, but once he had spotted House he put the notebook aside and looked up at House with no hint of the emotions he had a moment ago. House knew only a few people who could mask their feelings as good as Chase.

House offered him a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Chase took it with a slight nod of thanks. House picked up the notebook and walked out.

Chase was sure that convulsions were about to be added to the list of his symptoms, but more important was that House walked out to avoid another fight. Chase didn't know whether he was doing it out of respect, or House was afraid of losing him, but Chase wanted to think of it as of House's way of apology.

When Chase finished eating, House came back to pick up the plate. If Chase would have felt a little better he would have laughed at what he had turned House into. Even Cameron never took care of him like that.

Though Chase still felt exhausted he didn't want to sleep. So he just lay on the bed with closed eyes, imagining the beach and the waves. After a while, the door opened quietly, then the chair creaked.

Chase opened his eyes and looked up at House. The old diagnostician didn't look better than Chase himself. Another sleepless night took its toll on him.

"I thought the Vicodin would last longer," Chase said wearily, running a hand through his hair.

"I told you so. And the next time it will be even less."

"And you're warning me because you think I'll want more?" Chase asked with a frown.

House shrugged. "I just want you to know that it won't solve your problems."

"So you think I took it because I wanted to get high? I mean, it's not like I had a blinding headache and just wanted to get some sleep or anything," Chase retorted sarcastically.

Chase was getting tired of his own mood swings. It wasn't like him at all to lose control and lash out, but the nagging headache prevented him from thinking rationally. So, it was much easier to out at House than to admit his own mistakes.

"I just don't want you to be like me." House replied calmly, trying to avoid another conflict.

"And two days ago when you kicked me out, were you also trying to stop me from being like you?" Chase asked bitterly.

"Chase, I will say only once! I got angry because it had to be my decision, but I chickened out."

House was hoping that his candor would be enough for Chase to forgive him. It wasn't easy to admit his own weaknesses, but he knew that there was little he could say to make Chase feel at least a little bit better about what he had done.

Chase was silent, gathering his thoughts. To hear House say that Chase made the right decision was like absolution for the young man. He knew that it wasn't easy for House to admit it, but it wasn't enough for Chase. He wasn't going to step back from the decision he had made. He valued their friendship too much to repeat past mistakes. It was better to lose House now, than slowly watch the degradation of the man he respected the most. Finally, he met his eyes and said clearly, "If you vent on me again even once, for any reason - you had a bad day and your leg hurt, or you were mourning over Wilson, or you had too much Vicodin, I don't care - I won't be back."

House lowered his head and nodded. He knew that Chase's forgiveness would not be unconditional. That was fair. And honestly speaking, to appreciate their relationship was the least the Aussie could ask. With his words, Chase passed the responsibility to House. Now House had to decide whether he wanted Chase to stay with him or not.

Chase looked up at House to make sure they understood each other, then pulled back the covers and stood up. It had been a busy day, and he needed to be alone. Chase had no strength to get dressed and go out, so he just went to the living room and sat on the couch. They both had something to think about.

Chase didn't expect that to say these words would be so difficult and easy at the same time; difficult because there was no way back, neither for him nor for House, and easy because it was as if a heavy weight fell from his shoulders. He didn't owe House anything anymore, he didn't have to forgive him, or ask for forgiveness, and he didn't have to care about his feelings. He could be with House and just get pleasure from a friendship with the most interesting man he ever knew. And if for any reason, House would decide to use him as a whipping boy, not as a friend, then it would be Chase's turn to decide who he wanted to be.

House remained in his chair, letting Chase's words sink in. Everything could have turned out worse. If Chase was giving him another chance, even if it was the last one, it meant he wasn't going to leave as soon as he recovered. Or maybe he would, House couldn't be sure. The only thing House knew for sure - he didn't want to blow it and lose Chase.

House hadn't had a decent sleep for three nights in a row; the first night when he was waiting for Chase to return, the second when Chase did return, but was bruised up and suffering from the extreme headache, and the last when House succumbed to weakness and gave Chase his Vicodin.

So, House wanted to sleep so damn much, but doubted that he would, even if he would close his eyes. He got up and went to the kitchen to brew himself a strong cup of coffee and think about how to make amends with Chase. Time cured all wounds, but how to make Chase stay with him for that time, that was another matter.

Passing the living room, he looked inside. Chase was lying on the couch in a nest of pillows and blankets. House couldn't see, whether he was sleeping, but he hoped that Chase was able to get some rest.

cCc

House was drinking coffee and watching the news when he decided to check Chase's email. There was a message from Foreman:

_House, I understand that you're still reading Chase's mail. Tell him that the police found his wallet with his drivers license, but no money. He needs to pick it up at the police station on Fillmore street. And don't worry that I know where you are - I'm not going to look for you. Unlike Chase, I know that you are nothing but trouble._

House forward the message to his own mail box, and without any hesitation, deleted the original from Chase's. Perhaps the Aussie would not appreciate what he had done, but if that would give House more time to figure out what to do, then it was worth it.

* * *

_A/N: There are four chapters left. Personally, I like them the most, but they are long and I don't know when I will have time to translate. This time, all your support made me do it, so please don't hesitate to send a word or two, because that would definitely motivate me to put everything I'm doing aside and translate :)_

_Everyone who took their time to comment - thank you very very much! _


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